


The Quiet, Persistent, Gnawing Unease

by LollipopCop



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Crowley-centric (Good Omens), Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Nightmares, Scared Crowley (Good Omens), Wing sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-01-29 20:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21416164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LollipopCop/pseuds/LollipopCop
Summary: Aziraphale looked away, and poured himself another drink. “In any case, that looked unpleasant and I’m sorry to hear that’s a regular occurrence for you.”Crowley felt weird, like he wanted to yell and punch a wall and cry and hug Aziraphale all at once. He settled on being defensive. “Oh, save it. You probably think it’s what we demons deserve for our wickedness.”Aziraphale’s gaze turned serious. “You don’t deserve that, Crowley,” he said, quietly but firmly.~An exploration of the serious toll Hell's physical and psychological grip has taken on Crowley since his Fall.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 132
Kudos: 1375
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this [post](https://tsilvy.tumblr.com/post/188461454640/id-like-to-talk-about-something-that-has-been) talking about Hell's physical effect on and aggression towards Crowley, and I obsessed over the idea until I wrote a fic. This fic is already complete and the remaining two chapters will be posted in the coming days.

After being abandoned by the Almighty, Crowley had no desire to return to Heaven or become an angel again, but that didn’t mean he liked Hell. He was still angry that he was thrown down into a pool of boiling sulfur just for asking questions and seeing what Lucifer was doing out of boredom and curiosity. It seemed to be a punishment disproportionate to the crime, if you asked him. If God didn’t want angels to be anything but obedient, mindless servants, why did She give them the capacity for independent thought, anyway? Why couldn’t She consider anyone else’s point of view? It was genuine questions like these which led to the worst pain of his existence—every pearly-white feather on his wings being burnt to a dark, black crisp before slowly healing into the silky feathers he had today. Crowley had screamed until his throat was raw, the burning unending and so intense it felt like he was going to die. He felt like he was nothing but a mass of flames, every inch of him consumed. He scrambled until he felt land, and he pulled himself out of the pool of sulfur. His skin stung relentlessly, and then his screams were of horror, too, as he looked at the raw, bloody things sticking out his back, barely recognizable. He laid on his side with his hands over his face and cried for the first time. He didn’t really know what this process was, but he knew he couldn’t stop the liquid pouring from his eyes. The pain did end, somehow, and he trembled violently on the shore of the pool of sulfur, tears soaking his face, red curls plastered to his sweaty skin. He didn’t know how long he laid on the ground, until there was a sharp kick to his abdomen. 

“Get up,” a demon growled at him. “There’s no crying down here.”

Crowley never experienced physical pain in Heaven, but he knew he hated it and wanted to feel it as little as possible. As he soon discovered, that was a difficult aspiration in Hell. So, no, he didn’t want to go back to Heaven, but he knew instantly this place was no better, and was left wondering what the purpose of the war in Heaven was, anyway, if this was the alternative to their previous lifestyles.

Everyone in Hell was so  _ angry  _ all the time—at God, at each other, at everything and nothing at all. Before humanity existed, demons could only take out that anger on each other. Crowley never knew when a demon would snap on him and draw blood. He didn’t like fighting much, considered it a waste of time, but had to out of self-defense at times. He spent most of his time in Hell in his true serpentine form, since he could slither out of someone’s grasp easily. The demons started to calm down a little bit, eventually, enough so that he wasn’t constantly slithering off to a corner to heal himself, but it left him suspicious of everyone. Crowley had an attitude in Heaven, too—that was always part of his personality—but his default mode turned into snarky and defensive. He had to protect himself, and it was easier shutting down anything that might resemble softness and replacing it with a quick-witted tongue and functioning under the assumption that anyone could turn on him at any moment.

Crowley learned he couldn’t ask questions here, either, and that as demons, their whole identity was supposed to revolve around enjoying misery, causing suffering, and worshipping Satan. Any demon who voiced their displeasure at the way Hell was run was then punished and made an example with a clear message: don’t even think about going against us, or you’ll end up like this. Crowley didn’t fit in, but kept his mouth shut about it. He saw the way the handful of demons were tortured for suggesting the Dark Council or Satan were mistaken about something, anything, and decided pain wasn’t worth it. He shuddered when he imagined his wings being hurt again. Living in Hell meant he had to get used to watching torture rather quickly, or else someone would notice the repulsion on his face. He would have to keep all of these thoughts to himself. He couldn’t tell anyone he was scared of pain since the moment he clawed himself out of the pool of sulfur, or that he really felt quite lonely down here, or that in secrecy, he asked God why She did this to him. No, he could only grow accustomed to groans of agony and look out for himself. He was angry as the rest of them. He could never want to return to Heaven when the Almighty decided he deserved to go through the anguish of his wings being charred, but damn it, he hated it here, too. It was cramped and disgusting and loud and a fearful tingle was always wrapped around his spine.

Despite not fitting in, Crowley did intentionally aggravate other demons, just for something to do. He quite enjoyed pushing their buttons, getting them nice and riled up, and then letting them go and watching what happened. Crowley liked seeing what demons would do if nudged in the wrong direction. Some of them grumbled and moved on, and others went and caused a scene. It was a bit fun to watch, honestly. If he made the other demons go after someone else, then he could avoid being the target of someone’s ire. He was quite convincing, once he put his mind to it, and it was the only thing resembling fun he had in forever.

Satan took notice.

“You there,” Satan’s voice boomed in his head, and that was the first time Crowley experienced this method of communication. He hissed and recoiled in pain, curling in on himself. Bloody hell, that hurt.

“Yes?” he managed to ask, ears ringing.

“I’ve been watching you,” Satan’s deep voice purred, “always so quiet, so sly, so  _ tempting.” _

Ah, so that’s what that was called.  _ Tempting.  _ Crowley liked the word.

“Go up there and make trouble,” Satan commanded. “God’s new children—those humans? Mess with them. Make God angry with them.”

This wouldn’t be so bad, Crowley thought, straightening his spine. He could get out of here. Finally, something new. “Got it, er, Satan, sir.”

Crowley couldn’t believe how easy it was. A fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a big ‘No Touch’ sign? This had to be a trick. No, it had to be  _ planned. _

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” Crowley mumbled under his breath, talking to God. “If you didn’t want them to know the difference between good or evil, why’d you make this tree at all? Why’d you put it right where they can grab it?” He scowled at the sky. “Why do you set your creations up to fail? Well, I won’t stand in your way.” He turned into a snake and so easily tempted Eve. It was a piece of cake.

But Crowley watched Adam and Eve cower in fear as God punished them, and fuck, that was harsh, wasn’t it? It was the first time these humans ever disobeyed, and now their kind would be destined for death? For the first time, Crowley felt similar to these humans. He felt bothered, most of all, because what was God planning? Why did these new creatures have to suffer after one mistake? Crowley knew he couldn’t ask anyone in Hell. He couldn’t be anything less than thrilled that God abandoned humans, but secretly, he was conflicted.

Crowley’s knees buckled when Satan’s voice stabbed his head again, congratulating him on a job well done.

“Y-yeah,” Crowley staggered to his feet. “Yeah, it was nothing. Easy-peasy.” Would this method of communication be a regular thing? It really hurt. 

“Come back down here when you’re ready,” Satan told him.

Crowley sighed, rubbing his temples and feeling alone. What a day. He needed to talk to someone. He...He looked up, and saw an angel standing on top of the wall, back turned and looking out into the desert. It was the one who had a flaming sword.

Well, what did he have to lose? Crowley turned back into a snake and slithered up to him, and despite his better judgment, he questioned God’s plan, Her punishment, and if he actually did the right thing all in one conversation. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut, the events of the day were too much of a whirlwind. He anticipated the angel growing angry with him and using his flaming sword, and Crowley was ready. He hadn’t fought an angel in ages, but he had enough practice in Hell to hold his own.

But the angel didn’t hurt him. He didn’t shout, he didn’t smite him, nothing. He just looked at him warily and quietly told him it was best not to speculate.

Crowley stared at him. It was the least-awful treatment he had received in a long time. “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” he asked, looking all around for a sign of it. Was this a game? Was the angel waiting for the right moment to strike him?

“I gave it away!” the angel confessed with a distressed furrow of his brow.

Crowley was dumbfounded, and immediately interested in him. He wanted to give those defenseless humans a chance at survival, despite God giving it to him for his own defense. That was...genuinely kind. Crowley told himself angels weren’t kind, were just stuck-up pricks, but then, oh damn, and then the angel sheltered him from this new weather-thing with his wing. Crowley hid his shock and silently shuffled closer to the angel, the enemy. He felt a soft feather brush the shell of his ear, and he gulped. He stole a glance at him.

The angel was still staring at Adam and Eve, worry clear on his face. He seemed to truly care about the humans, if disobeying God by giving them his sword was anything to go by. He cared about them so much he went against the Almighty, knowing there could be punishment. 

Crowley could admire that. He looked at the humans and felt something akin to guilt, but no, if God didn’t want this to happen, it wouldn’t have. It wasn’t his fault. Still, he didn’t like the way a frown looked on this angel’s face. “Why’ve you got your wing over me?” he found himself asking.

“You’ll get wet, otherwise.”

Crowley wanted to say “ _ obviously, I’m not an idiot.”  _ He never saw rain before, but he knew water was wet, for Satan’s sake. “Oh,” came out instead. “We just met.” What a dumb thing to say. As if this was some grand gesture.

“Yes, well, getting wet would be an unpleasant sensation, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess.” Crowley was at a loss. Why was he being so nice? Was he really not going to smite him? “Angel?”

“Yes?” he asked.

“What’s your name?”

Palr blue eyes flickered to him. “Aziraphale.”

“Aziraphale,” he repeated, feeling the sounds on his tongue. He liked the name, but it was a mouthful. 

Aziraphale sighed. “Oh, I believe I’ve been rude.” He held out his hand. “I’m the Principality Aziraphale.”

Crowley’s hand twitched by his side, and then he grasped the soft, warm palm and shook his hand. “Crawly. Um, demon of Hell, Serpent of Eden.”

Aziraphale let go of him, his smile polite but uncomfortable. “Well, now we’ve been properly introduced.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “So, why’d the Almighty choose you to go to earth?” He was making small talk like a moron.

“She didn’t say, really,” Aziraphale folded his hands in front of his stomach. “I’m grateful I’m here, anyhow. This planet and those humans feel important.” He turned his face to him. “Can’t you feel it, too?”

Crowley felt a swelling in his chest and a warmth to his cheeks as he took in the face of this disobedient angel. “I think I do,” he murmured. He stayed under Aziraphale’s wing until the sun returned, dozens of confused thoughts bouncing around his head. The one thing he knew was that he found himself liking this angel, despite himself. He disobeyed God, so he couldn’t be that bad—or, good.

The rain stopped. “Well,” Crowley smirked at him, falling back into his usual sarcastic demeanor (it was safer that way). “I’d say it’s been a pleasure, Aziraphale, but you’d probably disagree with me, wouldn’t you? Spending time with the Damned can’t be your idea of a good time.”

“Not necessarily,” he said stiffly. “But it could have been worse.”

Crowley snorted. “What a high compliment.”

“I didn’t mean to be nasty,” Aziraphale said, “only truthful.”

Crowley felt an odd mix of amused and, no, he couldn’t be hurt. Demons weren’t supposed to get hurt by angels. “Right then. I’m off.”

Hastur was waiting for him when he returned to Hell. “Crowley.”

“Yeah?” 

“What were you doing, talking to the enemy?”

Crowley froze. “Eh.” If he told the truth, he was screwed. “Just trying to get information,” he shrugged. “I wanted to know what was the plan now so I can thwart it, but he didn’t know, so I left.”

Hastur’s black eyes were glaring at him. “Fine. All right. You’re off the hook this one time, plus Satan is pleased with you, but if we ever catch you with the enemy again, we’ll clip your wings. You’re supposed to spread evil, not make friends.”

Crowley shrugged as his stomach cramped. “Pfft, like I’d talk to him again. Ew. Stupid angel. I don’t want him as a friend. Demons don’t have friends. I was just trying to see how I could help our master more.”

That satisfied Hastur. “That’s what we like to hear.”

Crowley didn’t want to get hurt. He would probably never see Aziraphale again, anyway. It was fine.

Then he was assigned to earth, and he saw Aziraphale again.

And he couldn’t stay away.

* * *

Crowley soon learned that Hell didn’t check in much as long as humans sinned, and they, as it turned out, were perfectly capable of doing that themselves. He didn’t know how to feel about just how much they  _ didn’t  _ need him to make the world worse. It went into his Unpack These Thoughts Later box in his mind. In the meantime, he began taking credit for what they did, and Hell bought it, so he grew to enjoy his life on earth quite a lot. He liked all of their inventions and food and music. It was  _ fun  _ here, and he could stretch out and relax instead of being crowded into a wall like in Hell. He hated to admit it, God did well when She made this planet. The sun felt good on his skin and the scenery was much more interesting and aesthetically appealing than what he was used to. In addition, at night, he could see the stars, and he often spent time gazing at his creations and missing their white-hot intensity in the palms of his hands. He didn’t want to be an angel, but privately, he acknowledged that he missed creating things.

The fear of Hell was still there, though. He did things that made humans get annoyed and turn against each other, but he never did anything outright evil, and the other demons didn’t seem to get his style. He knew what he was doing; he was giving humans a nudge in the wrong direction and letting them choose their fate. That alone made enough of them go to Hell (see: previous point about humans sinning all by themselves). But what if one day Hell decided it just wasn’t enough, and they discovered he was taking credit for humanity’s work? Getting fired was the least of his worries. It sucked, really, that even when he was out of Hell they didn’t leave him alone. Getting a new assignment was terrible, not necessarily because of the task itself, but because of the fucking delivery system. Crowley would be minding his business one minute, and the next, a higher up would zap control of his mind and body away like it was no big deal, the details and purpose of his mission filling his mind and robbing him of his consciousness for a few moments. It was invasive, and if he wasn’t already seated, he would collapse when he came to, breathing heavily and feeling vertigo. Why couldn’t they just  _ verbally  _ tell him? He did know why, though. It was a little message: remember, you belong to Satan forever; you’re his servant. Knowing Hell could steal his thoughts with an assignment at any moment made him paranoid. It was like he was a puppet.

None of this even mentioned what Hell would do if they found out about Aziraphale.

Crowley had tried to go off and do his own thing, but if they happened to be in the same area, he would drop everything and go find him. He would beam when Aziraphale’s presence made himself known in his essence, and then hate himself for it after. What he was doing was undemonic and dangerous, but fuck, it was just so nice to be able to talk to someone who didn’t outright loathe him or fear his eyes. Being a supernatural entity on a planet full of humans and animals meant no one else could relate to him. 

Aziraphale remained rather wary of him, but Crowley was used to that, so it was okay. They would still hold conversations from time to time, and despite blabbering all that rubbish about God’s plan being ineffable, he was pretty all right.

However, Crowley grew angry with him during Jesus’ crucifixion. He winced in sympathy as Jesus called out to God, blood spurting from his palms. Crowley felt the same unease he did when Adam and Eve discovered fear and suffering.

“That’s got to hurt,” Crowley said. 

But Aziraphale, as much as he disliked what was happening, said he wasn’t consulted on policy. 

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Crowley narrowed his eyes. “A young man is being tortured in the name of your boss and that’s it?”

Aziraphale’s expression was cold. “As if  _ you  _ care for people.”

That stung. Crowley held back a shiver when tormented moans came as the crucifix was raised. “You’re like the rest of them,” he spat and walked away. The statement was twofold: Aziraphale was like all the other angels who were okay with suffering as long as God told them it was okay, and he was as indifferent to pain as the ones in Hell, too, but weren't angels supposed to be different? Crowley knew Heaven was a fraudulent establishment, so why did he think this one was different? Just because he lifted his wing during a storm? How did he not know better? It was his own fault for getting his hopes up that he had found someone like him. Crowley left town, chest aching and bitterness sloshing around in his stomach like acid.

* * *

Maybe his words had an impact, because Aziraphale was very friendly in Rome, and wouldn't take a hint. Crowley wanted to be left alone. What was that saying humans made? Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice—

"Oh, let me  _ tempt  _ you!"

Crowley turned to him immediately, taken aback. 

"No, erm," Aziraphale smiled sheepishly, the lightest dusting of pink on his round cheeks. "That's your job, isn't it?"

Crowley liked the look on his face, and his icy exterior thawed. He took a sip from his cup."Ok, let's get oysters." He mentally kicked himself. What?! What was wrong with him?

"Really?" Aziraphale's self-conscious smile turned excited. "Excellent! They're most scummy, I think you'll find."

Crowley's human heart beat hard. That was odd. He put a hand on his chest, but the feeling went away. Whatever. But he made a promise to himself: if Aziraphale pissed him off again tonight, then he wouldn’t speak to him again.

Of bloody course it was the best evening Crowley had on earth. Of bloody course it was the first time he laughed loud enough to draw other people’s attention. Of course it was.

* * *

Crowley thought he was rid of the anxiety that Hell would find out about his friendship with Aziraphale after the crucifixion, but they were friends again, which was a good and bad thing. He  _ liked  _ Aziraphale, and a bloody lot at that. He was a chatterbox, eccentric, surprisingly hedonistic, and quite a bastard over all that genuine goodness. He was caring but prim and fussy. It was easy to push his buttons, but he wasn’t easily intimidated. He was intelligent. He smiled sincerely at Crowley, too, now. The suspicion was more or less gone, although he knew Crowley got up to trouble, but he still seemed actually pleased to see him. No one was ever pleased to see Crowley.

One time, Crowley made a snide remark about a passerby under his breath.

Aziraphale giggled behind his hand and nudged him lightly in the ribcage with his elbow. “Stop it, serpent.”

Crowley instantly decided making Aziraphale laugh was one of his favorite activities. His heart was beating hard again.

This was worse than casually chatting with the enemy. Hell would be furious if they knew. They would torture him for a decade and murder him. Being friends with anyone was seen as too good for a demon (they only made alliances, temporary and unfriendly, to get a job done), but befriending an angel would be treason. He should stop spending time with him. He should ignore him. One stupid angel wasn't worth the pain that would inevitably come.

But Crowley never did make the best decisions, did he?

* * *

Once, and only once, Aziraphale was there when Hell gave him an assignment. They were drinking in Greece, out on a balcony to be away from confused human ears as they talked freely about their jobs and various things they witnessed throughout history. Then, as usual, information was dropped into Crowley’s brain without prior knowledge or consent, and he let out a yelp of pain as his temples pounded and his knees buckled, his hands gripping the balcony at the last second to keep himself upright.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale asked in alarm, sounding sober now. “What happened?”

Crowley’s eyes were screwed shut and he was breathing out his mouth, trying to get through the pain and vertigo. “Assignment,” he gritted out. This was embarrassing, being in pain in front of Aziraphale. Ugh. He must have looked so lame. “It’ll pass, gimme a sec.”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

Crowley got his breathing under control and forced his eyes to open, and he adjusted the glasses on his face. “Hell just drops the information for an assignment into my head. They can do it at any time. It just, hurts a bit.”

Aziraphale’s face was troubled, and he gazed at him for a silent, tense moment. “That...that sounds invasive,” he murmured after a long pause.

_ It is. I hate it.  _ He snorted, because living in Hell meant he learned to be dismissive and casual if anyone suspected he was showing vulnerability lest he earned more injuries. “It’s Hell, so of course it’s invasive.”

“Are you all right?” Aziraphale asked, eyes full of concern.

Crowley didn’t know what to do with that look. “Yep. Totally. I’m a demon. Demons like pain. Don’t be stupid.”

Aziraphale was clearly skeptical. “That’s your version of enjoying things?”

“Uh huh.”

Aziraphale looked away, and poured himself another drink. “In any case, that looked unpleasant and I’m sorry to hear that’s a regular occurrence for you.”

Crowley felt weird, like he wanted to yell and punch a wall and cry and hug Aziraphale all at once. He settled on being defensive. “Oh, save it. You probably think it’s what we demons deserve for our wickedness.” He was a Damned creature and pain was his punishment, no matter how fair or unfair that was. He could only run from it, but he couldn’t change his reality. God would never forgive him, and Hell would never like him. He...he was starting to spiral, a bit. He needed to pull himself together.

Aziraphale’s gaze turned serious. “You don’t deserve that, Crowley,” he said, quietly but firmly.

The weird mood intensified, leaning more towards feeling like he was close to tears, so Crowley spat, “Shut up!” and left. If he stormed out of the building and down the road while roughly rubbing a tear from his cheek, it was because he was drunk. He hadn’t cried since his Fall and there was no way he was doing it now. Nope.

* * *

The thumping-heart thing kept popping up around Aziraphale over the next few decades. They began to bump into each other a little bit more, and it started with his heart thumping whenever Aziraphale smiled, but then it started to happen whenever he first detected his essence in a new city. It was kind of freaking him out, actually, but it didn't stop him from seeing Aziraphale. 

Crowley may have felt a little worried about what his heart did when Aziraphale smiled, but he kind of wanted to keep making him happy, for some reason. He liked the look on his face. He liked...fuck, he liked being able to get that response from someone. 

“Fresh fruit in the market today,” Crowley casually tossed a bag full of bright, red cherries to Aziraphale. “Thought you’d want some.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “Why, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Did you steal these?” he narrowed his eyes.

“No!”

“Hmm.” But then Aziraphale popped one into his mouth, and his eyes fluttered shut and a delighted smile lifted his lips.

Crowley’s heart thumped.

"They’re delicious,” he moaned. “You must have some," Aziraphale held out a handful of cherries. "They're so refreshing."

Crowley didn’t think so—he wasn't much of a fruit eater—but he liked it when Aziraphale was happy with him, so he ate one. Why did he like his smile? Why did his human heart beat so hard? Maybe he should ask. He spit the spit out into a handkerchief. “Can I ask you something, about these vessels?”

“Oh, certainly,” he said, giving him his full attention. “I’m not sure I’ll be much help, but I’ll try.”

“Does your heart ever beat hard?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, that’s quite common when one does physical exercise, I believe. It can happen during stressful situations, as well.”

No, that wasn’t right. “Yeah, but what about when you’re sitting down, or you’re relaxed?”

“And still your heart beats so?” Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure I’ve experienced that. Are you sure your vessel isn’t falling ill?”

Crowley shook his head. “Sick for hundreds of years? I don’t think it works that way.”

“Hundreds of years?” he asked, growing concerned. “When does this happen? Can you be more specific?”

_ When you smile at me. When you try to make me happy instead of hurt me.  _ Crowley blinked hard behind his glasses. He couldn’t say that. He, oh fuck, what was happening to him? “Agh, it’s probably nothing,” he waved his hand and stood on unsteady legs. “I’m gonna go do. Stuff. Bye.”

“Oh.” The smile was gone. “I see. Thank you for for the food.”

“Urgh.” Crowley left and made his way back to his place, heart hammering, but out of anxiety now. He curled up on his bed. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was getting in so deep. 

The situation only got worse the next day, when Aziraphale went and got himself in trouble. Crowley, somehow, knew something was wrong; it was if someone had set an alarm bell off in his very essence, like he knew in his very core that something had gone awry. The sensation led him to Aziraphale being shoved up against an alley wall, a dagger to his throat.

“I told you I don’t have money,” Aziraphale said through a giggle. “This is a miss...miss...misunderstanding.”

Oh, blast it all, he was drunk! Crowley turned to his right and realized the alley was next to a pub. Why did the universe love annoying him? Why did an angel older than time get himself into such a stupid situation? “Seriously, angel?” Crowley crossed his arms.

Aziraphale and the attacker turned their heads towards him.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s face bloomed into a blissful smile.

“You are completely smashed,” Crowley sighed.

The man snarled at Crowley. “One step closer, and I cut his neck open. If you give me what’s in your pockets, I might let him go with only a scratch.” 

Crowley suddenly imagined Aziraphale feeling a fraction of the pain he felt in Hell, and leapt into action. No, no one could hurt this angel. Not while he was around. He turned into a giant snake, rising eight feet into the air and hissing loudly.

The man screamed and ran, dropping the knife with a clatter to the ground in his haste.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, looking up. “My, you’re tall.”

Crowley shifted back into his human form, fangs bared at the shadow of the fleeing man. “You better run, you bastard,” he hissed. He whipped to Aziraphale, arms crossing across his chest again and a foot tapping on the ground, like a disappointed mother. “What if I hadn’t been here? That man was about to kill you.”

“I had it under control,” he slurred, smiling dumbly and fixing the collar of his shirt clumsily.

Crowley groaned. “No, you did not!”

Aziraphale took a couple unsteady steps away from the wall. “If he started to cut I would’ve miracled myself away. ‘M not an idiot.”

“I beg to differ,” Crowley said.

“But still,” Aziraphale squinted at him, as if his mind was just catching up on what happened. “Why’d you save me? We’re nemmi—enemies.”

Crowley’s fucking heart wouldn’t calm down. “You’re welcome,” he said dryly.

He pouted. “I  _ am _ grateful. I’m...I’m only puzzled,” he said, slurring and buzzing the ‘z'.

Crowley’s lip twitched. “Returning the favor.”

“Favor?”

_ The thought of you in pain makes me ill. _ “For the wing. In Eden.”

“Ahhhhhh,” understanding smoothed out his features. “My, that was a while ago.”

“Yeah, well. We’re even. I didn’t get wet and your throat wasn’t cut into ribbons. Just don’t tell anyone about this.”

“I won’t,” he shook his head, and then grimaced when the motion made him dizzy.

“Don’t throw up on my shoes,” Crowley warned.

“I’m not. I didn’t eat. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Well, all right.” His eyes widened when he realized Aziraphale was coming towards him, and before he could do anything but gasp, he was pulled down by one arm into a clumsy, awkward, crushing, but warm hug.

“Thanks, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed happily. 

Crowley somehow simultaneously froze and melted, and his heart was in his throat now. It was the first time he ever received a hug. He didn’t want humans touching him, and avoided making physical contact with them as much as possible, but he never imagined this would happen. Aziraphale must have been drunk out of his fucking mind to be doing this. It was unprecedented. It was warm. It didn’t hurt. It was  _ good _ . Crowley wanted to hug back, hold him in his arms and bury his face into his chest, and he wanted to know what his face felt like in his palms, and he wanted to protect Aziraphale from all the moronic humans and dangerous demons, and he. 

And, oh, bloody fucking blasted hell, this was  _ love. _

He, a demon,  _ loved  _ someone.  _ He  _ loved an  _ angel _ . 

This was a death sentence.

Crowley roughly left his embrace, spluttering.

Aziraphale’s face fell. “Crowley?” he asked, sounding wounded.

Crowley’s face was scarlet and his hands were shaking. “Aghugh, y-you. You can’t do that!”

Aziraphale’s puppy-dog eyes grew sadder. “Why?”

“You need to sober up, Aziraphale.  _ Now _ .”

“But…”

“Now!”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, and after a few seconds, clarity was in his gaze. He took a step backwards. “Oh.” He put a hand on his chest. “Oh, goodness,” he looked away, humiliation painted across his face as clear as day.

“Now, now l-look,” Crowley choked out, heart still fucking beat hard as a racehorse’s. “You can’t do that. If anyone sees that—”

“Don’t worry,” Aziraphale’s voice sliced through the air like a sharp, cold blade. “I won’t do that again.” His eyes were on the ground. “It was most improper. I was far too inebriated. I sincerely apologize for violating you.”

Crowley was reaching his maximum levels of exasperation, confusion, and fear.  _ Oh fuck I’m in love with him _ kept playing over and over in his head.  _ I love him I love him I...wait, “violated”?  _ “Wha…?” He blinked. “No, you didn’t. That’s not.” The one time someone apologized for touching him and it was totally wrong. “That’s not the problem. It’s our bosses, Aziraphale. If they saw that…” He swallowed. “My lot wouldn’t be happy, is all I’ll say.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly, eyes glued to the ground. “Yes, you’re right. I assure you it won’t happen again.” He was monotone. “Forgive my foolishness.”

Crowley shook his head. “It’s all right.” With his heart hammering and his hands shaking, he felt like he was going to pass out. What was he supposed to do with all these emotions? Demons weren’t equipped to love, for fuck’s sake.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Aziraphale muttered to the dirt and turned on his heel, not quite fleeing from the alley, but close to it.

Crowley couldn’t move until his legs felt stronger than pudding. He eventually made his way back to his place and collapsed onto his bed, and he let his whole body shake. He was so, so fucked. Hell was going to find out. They would clip his wings. They would find a way to drown him in holy water. They would clip his wings and  _ then  _ drown him in holy water.

Crowley rolled onto his back, trying to stop his limbs from shaking. He couldn’t succumb to fear. What was he going to do, never leave his house again? He had to work. Crowley was an optimist at heart, in spite of everything, and he told himself over and over that it would be okay. Other demons rarely came up here. Hell barely checked in. He only saw Aziraphale every so often, anyway. He would just have to be careful. Yeah, that was it. He’d just add an extra layer of caution to his actions. It wasn’t like he would act on his love for Aziraphale, after all.

He sighed heavily. Why did he have to fall in love, anyway? Why couldn’t he be like the other demons? There he was, alone and nursing an aching heart, while the other demons in Hell were probably making each other miserable, and the angel who had unwittingly stolen his heart went on his merry way. Crowley was pathetic. This revelation wasn’t exactly surprising, though. Upon reflection, maybe he had fallen in love a long time ago, and only realized it today.

Crowley sniffed. He remembered what the hug felt like. He wanted more. He wanted a hug from Aziraphale to last for a decade. He despised himself.

He was afraid of slipping up and letting his feelings be known. He didn’t know which would be worse: Aziraphale’s inevitable reaction, or Hell overhearing and making a mockery of him before killing him. He needed time to himself. He needed to calm down.

They didn’t see each other for 400 years, and Crowley was back to pretending he wasn’t lonely and going mad from Hell’s random, constant-yet-unexpected physical grip on him. 

* * *

After their initial, awkward reunion in Elizabethan England, Crowley and Aziraphale’s odd friendship fell back into place. He didn’t let his fear stop him from seeing Aziraphale, because if he was going to be a loser in love, he would rather be a  _ brave  _ loser than a coward. He came up with the Arrangement for a few reasons: he didn’t want his assignments to be thwarted and get in trouble with Hell, it gave him a professional understanding with Aziraphale, and, to be completely honest, it meant he could perform blessings again. He still loved annoying the crap out of humans, but sometimes, only sometimes, he liked doing just a little bit of a nice thing for them. He justified it by saying his wiles canceled it out, so it wasn’t like he was good or  _ nice  _ or anything.

Aziraphale agreed to the Arrangement, but was aware of the risk their friendship posed to Crowley, too. They never mentioned that day, but while Aziraphale had always been cautious, he was now determined not to even talk about the Arrangement in public. Clearly, the conversation they had in the alley stuck with him.

“If Hell finds out, they won’t just be angry,” Aziraphale’s concerned blue eyes gazed into his. “They’ll destroy you.”

As if Crowley didn’t know. As if Crowley didn’t think of that all the time. But he couldn’t say that, because Aziraphale might want to stop seeing him if he knew the unease he felt, and Crowley couldn’t let anyone know he was fearful at all. Demons weren’t allowed to open up and talk about how Hell scared the ever-living piss out of them.

“No one ever has to know,” Crowley said, trying to convince himself that Hell wouldn’t find out more than anything. They flipped a coin, and Aziraphale lost, so at least Crowley wouldn’t have to do his next tempting assignment.

“It’ll take a miracle to get anyone to see  _ Hamlet _ !”

Aziraphale turned to him, a hopeful uplight to his brow and shining in his eyes.

_ Damn it.  _ Crowley sighed. “Yes, all right, I’ll do that one. My treat.”

Aziraphale smiled joyfully. “Oh, really?”

Crowley would have melted if he looked at that face any longer, so he said, “Still prefer the funny ones,” and walked away.

Since he realized he had fallen in love, Crowley dreamt of Aziraphale when he slept. When he first started sleeping, he discovered what dreams were, and then nightmares. It was only logical that someone with memories of the horrors of Hell would have bad dreams from time to time. The nightmares varied from being vaguely unpleasant to scenes of Crowley being drowned in holy water. He would wake up panting after that. He learned to avoid sleep if he had been to Hell recently. However, dreams of Aziraphale replaced his nightmares, and they were something out of a soppy romance novel. He dreamt of Aziraphale holding him, caressing his hair, kissing him tenderly on the lips, slowly undressing him and loving him into the mattress. Crowley wished the dreams would go away at first, because they were pitifully romantic for a demon, and because he felt lonely after he woke up. After the 80th dream, he just got used to them and accepted that if he was going to sleep, some variation of being with Aziraphale would play before his mind’s eye. Sometimes, his dreams got rather heated, and he woke up sticky.

“Stupid fucking leaking bodies,” he muttered to himself the first time it happened. Sometimes he touched himself after the dreams and told himself it was very demonic of him to wank to his best friend without his knowledge, but that thought didn’t satisfy him the way he thought it would. Did angels even fuck? He had no clue and it was definitely not a question he could ask. He imagined what it would be like if Aziraphale actually had sex with him, running his hands over his skin and murmuring softly into his ear as he pushed inside him, and Crowley would come embarrassingly quickly. He felt kind of shitty after times like that, though, because in his fantasies, Aziraphale would hold him afterwards, but in reality, Crowley was alone with a mess on his stomach. This whole thing would just have to go into the Never Tell Anyone About This box in his mind.

But life went on. Crowley took credit for some of humanity’s atrocities and carried out mischief of his own, and Hell was generally pleased with his work. He still had to look over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching when he saw Aziraphale, and pain from his assignments still assaulted his head without his consent, but, eh, that wasn't new. He saved Aziraphale from the Bastille, but they both made it a point to keep their hands to themselves, so nothing bad happened. He reminded Aziraphale not to thank him because of the risk of this rescue, but other than that, it was fine. They were good.

Until he asked Aziraphale for holy water. 

In 1800, when Aziraphale opened his bookshop, Gabriel and Sandalphon popped in to recall him to Heaven. Crowley intervened, because never seeing the love of his life again after thousands of years was a thought he didn’t even want to entertain, but he kept thinking about how close they got to being caught. If either archangel had turned around, they would have both gotten into insurmountable trouble, and what if it were the reverse? Demons could come talk to Crowley any time, and Aziraphale could unknowingly walk in. Crowley needed to be ready for something like that. It was only rational. They both knew Hell would kill him if they found out about the Arrangement, so why not give him holy water?

“I’m not an idiot, Crowley!” Aziraphale insisted.

Crowley knew he wasn’t, but he sure was acting like one now.

“Do you know they trouble I would be in if they knew I was fraternizing?”

A firm kick to Crowley’s heart, which had opened up to him so willingly, so treacherously. “‘Fraternizing’?!” That was all this was to Aziraphale? Really?! Crowley swallowed back a sudden, hateful lump in his throat. There he was, loving him like a great big moron for thousands of years, and it was all just  _ fraternizing _ . Why was Aziraphale acting like he was the only one at risk here? Crowley would be killed if his bosses knew, but he was willing to be friends with him, and Aziraphale clearly did not return the sentiment. What kind of cruel game was it from God to make the demon the one with a heart Hell tried to burn out of him on his sleeve?

“I don’t need you!” Crowley shot daggers at him from behind his glasses.  _ Do you know how much I risk for you? Do you know how fucking terrified I am, but I come to you anyway? _

“And the feeling is mutual!” Aziraphale turned around abruptly. “Obviously!”

And there Crowley was, alone and rejected with no holy water. That bloody bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.  
But if you want some fluff, may I suggest my current A/C [fake relationship fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20535329/chapters/48741686)? ;)


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley slept for 70 years after ending his friendship with Aziraphale. There were no more dreams of yearning for his touch, only grey nothingness. But he was a resilient being. He got a new haircut and clothes and caught up with the times. Who knew what Aziraphale was doing? He didn’t care. His love would fade. He’d get over it, someday.

His biggest discovery was that those brilliant humans went and invented cars and radios.

Crowley was riding in his new car with the windows down, happy as the wind blew in his hair as he went 90 miles per hour. This was thrilling.

“Crowley,” a voice came from the radio.

Crowley jumped in his seat, slowing down to 50 miles per hour. “Er...yes? Who’s this?”

“Ligur, you idiot,” the voice said.

“Ah, right, right. I didn’t know you can talk through radios.”

“We just discovered it. Convenient, isn’t it? We have a new assignment for you.”

Crowley braced his hands on the steering wheel. “Lay it on me,” he said with fake enthusiasm.

The message rose like smoke from the radio and shot into his eyes, and as always, he fell under Hell’s control for a few moments. When he came to it was like needles were stabbing his head, and he was swerving on the road. “Shit!” he shouted and got back on track.

Fan-fucking-tastic. Now Hell had a new way of getting to Crowley. He didn’t even have privacy in his car. That didn’t stop him from driving, but it put a damper on his mood.

Not long after, he felt that familiar alarm bell in his essence one night: Aziraphale was in trouble. Fuck. They hadn’t spoken since 1862. Crowley shouldn’t go. He should let Aziraphale figure it out himself. So what if his body was killed? He’d get a new one.

That train of thought lasted for two seconds. Crowley imagined what Aziraphale’s face would be like in the throes of suffering, and he slammed his foot on the gas and sped to the church. He hesitated for a moment outside. It was consecrated ground and would surely hurt him. He took a deep breath. He could do it. It would be worth it. He ran into the church and yelped and hissed in pain as the ground burned his feet through his shoes. If a church floor hurt this badly, he didn’t even want to think about what holy water would do. 

“What are  _ you  _ doing here?” Aziraphale asked in unrestricted displeasure.

“Stopping you from getting into trouble!” he hopped over to him.

Aziraphale was exasperated. “Of course, I should have known. These people are working for you,” he accused.

Crowley was offended. As if he would work with Nazis. “No, they’re just half-witted Nazi spies running around London, blackmailing and murdering people!” His soles were burning. “I just didn’t want to see you embarrassed.” The pain got to him again and he had to hop from one foot to the other again.

He changed the direction of the bomb to land here, because fuck these Nazis, and Aziraphale used a miracle to save them both. 

Crowley was relieved when the church was destroyed and his feet stopped burning. There. Crisis averted.

“That was very kind of you,” Aziraphale said pointedly.

Crowley grimaced. “Shut up.”

“Well, it was,” he insisted. “No paperwork, for a start,” he laughed lightly. His smile dropped. “Oh, the books! Oh,” he cried out in distress. “I forgot all the books!”

Really, what did he take Crowley for? Of course he saved the books. He knew how much Aziraphale cherished his collection. He nonchalantly handed the bag to Aziraphale and went to his car. He didn’t think much of it at first, his mind just on how glad he was that Aziraphale was okay and they were on speaking terms again.

Then, Aziraphale got in the car with the most peculiar look on his face. His mouth was in a soft line, too soft to be a grin but definitely not a frown, his eyes were filled with...something positive. It couldn’t have been delight. It couldn’t have been affection. No, Crowley was just projecting.

Crowley looked ahead, face warming and heart thumping. Damn it all, he still loved him with his entirety. He drove Aziraphale home in silence.

“Here you are,” he said when they were in front of the bookshop.

Aziraphale still had that confusing, weirdly close to tender look in his eyes. What was happening? Aziraphale’s expression turned even softer. “Thank you again. Take care, Crowley.”

Crowley wasn’t breathing. He watched Aziraphale go into his shop and then squeezed his eyes shut. He was being stupid. Aziraphale couldn’t have been looking at him with affection. It couldn’t be. That hug all those centuries ago was just a drunken fluke. He was a bloody demon, an unlovable, unforgivable creature. He shouldn’t have even loved Aziraphale, or wanted  _ his  _ love. He shouldn’t have wanted to be held. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he stop? Crowley went home and soaked the fierce red blisters on his feet. Since it was holy power, his demonic healing powers were useless and he had to wait for his feet to heal like he was a bloody human. He spent the rest of the war drunk, hating himself.

* * *

Just as he was adjusting to Hell being able to pop in whenever over the radio, it got even worse with the invention of television. It was the 1960s. Crowley was relaxing in his flat, glasses off, enjoying his new television set. He was dozing a bit, legs spread on the sofa in a rude fashion, but he was alone, so it was okay. He liked staying in sometimes, more than he liked to admit. He liked thrilling car rides and good alcohol and concerts, but getting the fuck away from everyone was nice, too.

The screen flickered and Hastur was sitting there.

“Hello, Crowley.”

Crowley jumped, anxiety making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “Duke Hastur,” he tried to sound pleasantly surprised. 

Hastur gave him a malicious smirk. “Did I scare you, Crowley?”

“No,” he said flatly. “You  _ woke  _ me.”

“You waste your time sleeping instead of working?”

“No, no, I do it rarely. Once every 500 years or so.” If anything, he was describing Aziraphale. “Sometimes these bodies just give out. Uh, I didn’t know you could do this thing here with the television screen.”

“I’m not even really sure what a television is,” he said gruffly, “but Ligur showed me how to do this.”

“Nice. So, erm, what’s my assignment?”

“Nothing,” Hastur said. “Just making sure you’re not slipping up.”

“Why would I be slipping up?” he asked, wishing he had his glasses on. “I’m always wiling and causing trouble.”

Hastur’s smile was sickly. “We’re only making sure you know we’re always watching.”

“O...kay.” His own flat. He could be watched in his own flat. He wasn’t safe in his car, and now he wasn’t safe in his home. “Good to know, I guess.”

Once the screen went black, Crowley put on his glasses and left the flat, hands in his pockets, a ball of anxiety crushing his chest and making it tingle. For Satan’s sake, why couldn’t he just be left alone? He couldn’t even  _ sleep  _ without the threat of being watched? He would make sure he never put a television in his bedroom. He didn’t feel safe going back to his flat, not tonight.

Crowley was knocking on the bookshop door before he knew it.

“We’re closed!” Aziraphale called.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Angel,” he said loudly and firmly. “It’s me.”

After a moment, the door opened. “Crowley?” Aziraphale asked. He was wearing glasses, evidently in the middle of reading.

“You know you don’t need reading glasses, right?”

“Why are you here?”

_ I’m afraid to go home.  _ “What?” he smirked. “I can’t just say hi?”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes.

Crowley stood there in the doorway.

“Fine,” Aziraphale opened the door wider. “Come in.”

Crowley held in a sigh of relief and strolled into the shop, hands in his pockets. “It’s been awhile since we’ve drank together, eh?” They were okay again after the 1941 incident, but didn’t hang out much. 

“That’s true,” he conceded. “I have some whisky in the back.”

“Sounds good.”

Thank someone humans invented alcohol, because tension always eased between them when they were thoroughly sloshed.

“W-what’s your hair?” Aziraphale squinted at him, slumped in his chair.

“My hair?” Crowley asked, lounging on the sofa across from him. His face was warm from the alcohol, and his limbs felt loose. He didn’t know how many hours had passed, but he knew he spent a good forty minutes listening to Aziraphale ramble on about a book, and fuck, Crowley loved when he did that. He loved to watch his eyes light up and his hands flutter as he talked. He loved the smooth sound of his voice in the quiet of this shop. Blast it all, he loved this shop. It wasn’t his taste, but that was the point: it was 100%  _ Aziraphale _ . It was warm and homely and old-fashioned and cluttered in a way that was somehow different from the crowded nature of Hell. The shop was the opposite of Hell in every way. It was perfect.

“It’s longish,” Aziraphale said after a hiccup. “But in a style. I think I’ve seen that style.”

“It’s like the Beatles.”

“Who?”

“Oh, angel,” Crowley smiled. “Never change.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “You’re makin’ fun of me.”

“I’m not,” he shook his head, which was a sluggish rolling of his neck against the back of the sofa. “You’re funny.” He was relaxed. He was safe here. Aziraphale was here. If any demon ever thought of coming here, Crowley would kill them. No one messed with his Aziraphale. No one.

“You’re very drunk,” Aziraphale accused.

“Yeah,” Crowley laughed lazily. “It feels good.” 

“Your glasses are crooked.”

Crowley took them off. “Now they’re not.”

Aziraphale’s smile was soft and lovely, the drunken flush beautiful on his face. “There you are. It’s been ages since I’ve seen your eyes.”

Crowley felt his face heat up. He swallowed. “D’you like them?”

“They’re very you,” he said, smile bright.

Crowley didn’t know what to do with that. “Uh, yeah, They’re my eyes, so.”

Aziraphale sipped more from his drink. “Your hair’s a little silly, though.”

“It’s in the style!”

“I liked your hair in Eden.”

Crowley was glad he wasn’t holding his drink, or else he would have dropped it. “You...you did?”

“Yes. Long curls suit you.”

Crowley’s face was flaming. “Er. Um. Y-you know, your hair’s always the same.” Oh Satan, was Aziraphale really complimenting his appearance? How drunk was he? If he hugged him again, he wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

“If it’s not broken, don’t fix it,” Aziraphale shrugged.

“Fair.”

But then the topic of conversation changed, and Crowley was a little disappointed. They laughed and drank more, though, so it wasn’t bad. As the night grew darker, Crowley was yawning more and more, the relief from the stress he felt earlier wearing out his body.

“Are you tired?” Aziraphale looked at him in surprise. “You’re yawning.”

“I kinda am.”

“Oh,” he clumsily sat up, “well don’t lemme keep you. You can go home.”

A jolt of anxiety made him startle into a more upright position.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked.

No, he didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to be watched by demons. He forced his posture to seem relaxed again and he sank into the cushions. “C’mon, angel, I’m too tired to move.”

“Sleep isn’t a necess...We don’t need to sleep.”

Crowley wanted to bounce his knee anxiously, but that would let Aziraphale know he wasn’t actually that tired. “But it feels good. The vessel’s tired. C’mon. I’ll just stay here. I’ll be quiet. I’ll leave when I wake up. You can go read.”  _ Don’t send me home. Don’t make me be alone tonight. Come on, angel, don’t be a bastard. Not tonight. _

Aziraphale stared at him, his eyes intoxicated but conflicted, an internal argument in his head loud and clear.

“Just for an hour,” Crowley blurted out, feeling queasy from his nerves and the whiskey. “I just wanna nap for a little.”

Aziraphale didn’t look happy about it, but he said, “All right, fine.”

Crowley collapsed completely into the cushions like a puppet whose strings had been cut. “Oh, thank you, angel.”

“You don’t ever thank me,” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him.

“And I won’t do it again.”

A ghost of a grin. “Yes, well. I’m going to go sober up and read.”

“Gotcha. G’night.”

Crowley watched him leave the back of the shop, and then he let out a long sigh of relief. At least for tonight, he was safe. He laid down on the old sofa on his side. As much as he thought the design was tacky, the furniture itself was comfortable, and he really was drunk off his arse and exhausted from stress, so it didn’t take long for the warmth of the shop to wrap around him like a soft blanket. He fell asleep feeling at peace.

But his mind had other plans. It was a nightmare. He dreamt he had fallen asleep on his own sofa instead, and in his sleep, Ligur and Hastur emerged from the television. They smirked deviously as they snuck up on him, and attacked him. In the next instant, in the nonsensical ways dreams work, Crowley’s hands were bound behind his back and his ankles were tied together. He was blindfolded and his wings were out. He struggled and tried to yell, but Ligure shoved a gag into his mouth. It felt like he was choking, even in sleep. Hastur’s smirk was ugly enough to be a grimace, and he plucked each feather from Crowley’s wings with pliers. Ligur cackled at his screeches of pain.

Crowley didn’t know that in the real word, he was trembling in his sleep, nor that Aziraphale was watching him. He shook harder as the nightmare sucked him deeper into the abyss of his mind, his brow pinched and his mouth in a tight line. In the dream, Hastur yanked his wing and dislocated it, and in reality, a tear fell from Crowley’s eye. He didn’t know Aziraphale’s hand hovered above him, and that he thought of miracling sweet dreams to settle into his mind. He didn’t see the mixture of astonishment, sympathy, and grief on Aziraphale’s face as he bit his lip, contemplating. But he changed his mind, afraid a miracle on a demon would alert Heaven, and left him there. Crowley didn’t know the sight of him shivering in a nightmare would haunt Aziraphale, and that was what truly pushed him to give him holy water. Crowley woke up alone, the remnants of shivers running through his muscles, and felt afraid. He stopped sleeping after that.

* * *

Crowley held the thermos of holy water to his chest, throat tight as he watched Aziraphale walk away. He only turned down a lift, but it felt like he was rejecting more than that. It felt like he was rejecting  _ Crowley _ . Honestly, the nerve of him. How was he the one going too fast when Aziraphale hugged him thousands of years ago? That was just rewriting history.

He stroked the lid of the thermos. At least he had this. If anyone ever came for him, he had the most powerful weapon against demons that existed. With this, he had a chance at survival if Hell ever turned on him. He felt a little safer with the thermos behind the painting in his flat. That was no small thing, so he might as well consider it a victory.

* * *

“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit” Crowley hissed, his world crashing down. It was only 2008, and the anti-Christ was here already. He needed more time. He loathed the idea of going back to Hell after Armageddon. Even though his bosses threatened him from time to time, he hadn’t been hit since before Eden. He couldn’t go back to that life. He refused. If Hell lost, then Heaven would outright kill him.  _ Fuck!  _ He wanted to stay on earth forever, and you know what? He didn’t want the humans to die, either. He liked humans, it was one of his weaknesses. They were so clever and capable of amazing and terrible things, but they were just getting started. It wasn’t fair to them. They deserved to keep on living. 

Crowley had to do something. If he didn’t properly influence the anti-Christ and Hell found out, they would kill him. If Armageddon went according to plan and Hell won, his life would go back to unending misery. If Heaven won, he would be killed; he doubted he would be granted asylum, but he didn’t even want to live there again, anyway. He was fucked, completely fucked.

“Why me?”

Satan’s voice came from the radio. “The M25 was a stroke of demonic genius, darling.”

Crowley groaned aloud. Then, the details of his assignment were shot into his eyes through the radio, and he was helpless to it. He came to and almost crashed. He steadied the car, breathing hard, and he felt sick with worry. He needed to stop this. He needed to do  _ something.  _ If he was screwed no matter what, then he might as well try to save the humans and his life on earth. It was his only hope.

He needed Aziraphale.

* * *

Thank someone, Aziraphale agreed to his plan, and things seemed to be working. But then, they found out they raised the wrong boy for 11 years. Dread dropped into Crowley’s stomach. No, they had to keep trying to stop the apocalypse. Giving up wasn’t an option. It was stressing him out, though, and he sat on his throne in his flat, thinking to himself quietly with the quiet murmur of the television.

So of course, Ligur and Hastur decided that would be a great time to appear on the screen.

“Hey guys,” he said. Damn, his glasses were off. He had to sit and pretend that he hadn’t lost track of the son of Satan and that he wanted the apocalypse as much as they did. Those were two pretty big things to fake, if you asked him.

“We are the Fallen. Never forget that,” Hastur told him, black eyes boring into him.

“Well, it’s not the sort of thing you forget,” he said, and he could have sworn he felt phantom burns on his wings.

“I don’t trust you, Crowley.”

“Everything’s going just fine,” he lied. He snapped his fingers and shut off the television. “I didn’t mean to Fall,” he said to himself. “I just hung around the wrong people.” On another plane, his wings twitched.

Later that day, Crowley saw those humans frothing at the mouth at the idea of hurting each other, so why not give them real guns? But no, of  _ course  _ he didn’t let them actually hurt and kill each other. 

“It wouldn’t be any fun that way,” he told Aziraphale. Letting humans take it upon themselves to be terrible and drift towards sin? That was fun. Injury and murder? Nah. Never his thing.

Aziraphale smiled. “You know, Crowley, I’ve always said that deep down, you really are quite a nice—”

Crowley had to shut him up, because no one could hear that he was anything but the evil demon he was supposed to be. “Shut it!” he hissed in Aziraphale’s face. “I’m a  _ demon _ , I’m not nice! ‘Nice’ is a four-letter word and I won’t—”

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” a woman said.

Crowley recognized her immediately. The conversation changed,but back in the Bentley a few minutes later, Crowley realized what he did; he physically intimidated Aziraphale and could have hurt him. What the fuck was wrong with him? What was he thinking? He let his disgusting fear take over his senses and he lashed out at the one person who never hurt him.

“Uh,” Crowley started, grateful his eyes were covered and he could look at the road and not at him. “Earlier, that thing I did, with the wall. I’m not nice, but, that was an overreaction.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale said, but only sounded mildly annoyed. “You were always quite dramatic.”

“I guess, but.”  _ I’m sorry.  _ “Shouldn’t have done that, y’know. ‘Cause of the Arrangement and all.” That was safer than saying  _ “because I love you and never wanted to hurt you.”  _ The Arrangement gave him cover for a lot of his behavior towards Aziraphale. It was one of the reasons why he came up with it in the first place.

“Oh, please,” Aziraphale dismissed. “It isn’t as if you harmed me. I knew you were merely blowing off steam.”

Some of the tension in Crowley’s chest eased. “Yeah? I mean, no, I’m a demon, you’re supposed to take my threats seriously.”

Aziraphale only chuckled. “Of course.”

Crowley wanted to be more annoyed, but he could only be glad he didn’t actually hurt him. Right, then. 

* * *

It was becoming unlikely they would find the boy, and Crowley needed an out. He didn’t want to fight and he didn’t want to stick around and see the earth destroyed. But earth was only one planet, and the universe was vast and beautiful. He could run away to another galaxy where no one would ever find him. He didn’t want to leave Aziraphale behind, though. He had to save him, too.

“It’s a big universe,” Crowley held out his arms. “If all this ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we can go off together.”

Aziraphale’s tone turned puzzled but hopeful. “Go off together?”

_ Yes! Yes! _

“Listen to yourself,” Aziraphale said, patronizing and cold.

_ No!  _ He was trying to save their bloody lives! “How long have we been friends? 6,000 years!”

“Friends? We’re not friends!” Aziraphale denied adamantly.

Crowley lowered his arms. What was up with him? Aziraphale called him his friend for a couple hundred years now. There had to have been something more going on here. Aziraphale looked as stressed as he felt. There was something he wasn’t telling him. Crowley’s love may have been unrequited, but he knew they were friends. This was a bunch of bollocks.

“There is no ‘our side,’ Crowley! Not anymore!” Aziraphale snapped. “It’s over.”

Crowley felt like his heart was just ripped out and thrown into a sea of ice. There was so much he had to say:  _ I want to save you. I want to run away because I’m scared shitless. I’ve been so scared for so long. I don’t want to leave you, but I can’t face Hell. I’m a coward. Why are you being cruel? You’re a bastard but this isn’t you. I love you and you’re hurting me. I thought you were different. _

Crowley said none of it. “Right,” he choked out. He was in a state of shock, but the old instinct to hide his heartache kicked in. “Well, then,” he walked away. “Have a nice Doomsday,” he spat over his shoulder.

Afterwards, his worst fear was coming true. 

“You’re dead meat Crowley,” Hastur on the theater screen said as he slaughtered cartoon rabbits. “You’re bloody history. You stay where you are! We’re coming to collect you!”

Crowley was instantly on his feet. He always knew, deep down, that he would hear those words. He ran out of time. He couldn’t hope to save the world anymore. He had to run. He chose Alpha Centauri and found Aziraphale, so anxious he felt like he could discorporate.

“Angel!” he called. He had to get Aziraphale to come with him. It was their last chance to escape. “Look, I’m sorry. Whatever I said, I didn’t mean it.”

Aziraphale was quiet and looking at him in dismay.

“Work with me, I’m apologizing here!” he said, getting close to the edge of desperation. “Yes? Good. Get in the car.”

“What? No!” Aziraphale glared at him.

Didn’t he understand the danger they were in?! No? Ok, he would explain. “The forces of Hell know it was me, but we can run away together! Alpha Centauri!” he waved his arm in the air.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, utterly uninterested and dismissive.

Crowley’s heart sank at the look on his face.

“Crowley, you’re being ridiculous. I-I-I’m quite certain that if I just talk to the right people, I can sort this out.”

Was this insanity? Crowley felt bonkers.

_ “I’m going slightly mad,”  _ Freddie Mercury’s voice sang in his head. 

“There are no right people!” he walked up to him. “There’s just God! Moving in mysterious ways and not  _ talking  _ to  _ any  _ of us!” he growled, his patience gone.

“Yes, well, that’s why I’m going to have a word with the Almighty and then the Almighty will fix it,” he nodded.

It was like his brain was a rubber band that snapped. “That won’t happen!” he said incredulously. He didn’t get it. “You’re so clever! How could someone so clever be so stupid?”

Aziraphale stared at him intensely. “I forgive you.”

Crowley couldn’t handle this. He couldn’t stay here and die because of Aziraphale’s blind faith in Heaven. He didn’t have time for Aziraphale’s crisis. “Don’t you know what Hell will do to me?!” he finally asked.

Aziraphale’s lips parted and his eyes grew wider. “What?”

Crowley became aware that he was yelling in the middle of a crowded pavement. He was making a scene and wasting time. He needed to prepare. “I’m going home, angel!” he stalked over to his car. “I’m getting my stuff and I’m leaving. And when I’m off in the stars, I won’t even think about you!”

* * *

It was an odd thing. After millennia of fear, he was calm as he prepared the holy water. He always knew this day would come, even when his optimistic side told him everything would be okay. He played with fire for too long, and interfering with Hell’s plan to end the world was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He held the plant mister in his hand and sat on his throne, waiting. He knew he didn’t have enough holy water to kill both of them, but he could lie and scare the other with this.

The bucket landed on Ligur.

Crowley watched him melt through his sunglasses, not an ounce of pity in his soul. They were going to do that to him, so why should he feel sorry? He was only playing fair.

Hastur was screaming in horror. 

“Hi,” Crowley said flatly.

Hastur couldn’t believe his eyes. “He didn’t do anything to you!”

“Yet,” Crowley said, the syllable clipped. He was no idiot. He got up and held the plant mister steadily, like a firearm. Satan, threatening Hastur felt  _ good _ . It was revenge for breathing down his neck for thousands of years. The tables were turned. Now, Crowley had the power. He was the one inspiring fear.

“Do you know what this? This is a plant mister. It can squirt a fine spray of water into the air. It’s filled with holy water.” He wished. Still, this taunting was fun.

“You’re bluffing,” Hastur accused.

“Do you feel lucky?”

Hastur stared intently at the bottle.

A droplet hit Crowley’s finger from the nozzle.

“Yes,” he said, all the fear gone in an instant.

Fuck. The mister broke. Crowley had to think fast, and thank someone humans invented mobile phones.

“Ha!” Crowley laughed triumphantly once Hastur was trapped in the answering machine, a pep to his step. Now to find out what Aziraphale had wanted.

* * *

Crowley was too late. He sat at the bar, feeling sick but drinking anyway. He let him down. He failed. He let Aziraphale experience the fatal pain of hellfire. It was his fault. He didn’t want to go on. He didn’t want to run or save the world—what was the point, when Aziraphale was gone? He didn’t care who came for him now. His better half was dead. Everything was meaningless. He supposed he should have known his life would end in misery. 

“I never asked to be a demon,” he said to the uninterested, retreating bartender. “I was just minding my own business and then, oh, lookie here! It’s Lucifer and the guuuys! Okay!” he shrugged. “Food hasn’t been that good lately. Didn’t have anything on that afternoon. Next thing, I’m doing a m-million light year freestyle dive into a p-pool of boiling sulfur!” No one was listening. “And it hurt,” he finished quietly. It hurt so, so badly. He had angry scars where his wings would be on his back, and yet that paled in comparison to the agony he felt now.

Thunder cracked in front of him, and Crowley’s jaw dropped, feeling like  _ he _ was the one coming back to life.  _ “Aziraphale.” _

* * *

Crowley whipped his head around when the glasses were removed from his face.

Hastur snapped his sunglasses in two, casual as ever in the car.

“Hastur,” he said, not hiding his displeasure. He didn’t know how he got out of the answering machine, but all that mattered was he did, and he was sitting in the Bentley. Crowley couldn’t give up now, though. Aziraphale was counting on him. He barely registered what Hastur was saying as his eyes darted back and forth, his mind frantically looking for a way out. There was no way he could get around the ring of fire, but he had to get to Tadfield. They were so close to stopping the Apocalypse. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and the old fear vanished. He was so, so bloody tired of being afraid, but he knew what it was like to lose everything now, and that was worse than anything Hell could do to him. Crowley sat up straight. He could do this. Fuck Hastur. He put on Queen’s “I’m in Love With My Car” and stepped on the gas, approaching the giant ring of fire.

“What—what—why are you driving?” Hastur asked. “That’s—what—stop this thing.” He sounded frightened.

Crowley couldn’t care less. “You know the thing I like best about time, is that every day it takes us further away from the 14th century. I  _ really  _ didn’t like the 14th century. You’d loved it, then.”

“Yeah,” Hastur said distractedly. 

“They didn’t have any cars back in the 14th century.” He thought of the upcoming end of all, and how humans needed more time, to get further away from the 14th century, and to keep doing all of these maddening, brilliant things. “Lovely, clever human people inventing cars and motorways and windscreen wipers. You got to hand it to them.” The car was beginning to shake as they approached the fire, and excitement filled his veins.

“Yeah,” Hastur said absentmindedly, and then yelped. “Ah! Stop it. It’s over. You’re doomed! You hear me, Crowley?”

He heard him loud and clear, but after an eternity of imagining this conversation, he was ready. 

“You’re doomed! Whatever happens, doomed!” Hastur told him, shifting nervously in the seat as the heat of the approaching flames hit their skin and cast them in an orange light.

A gleeful, shit-eating grin made him bare his teeth. “See? This day’s already got better,” he told Hastur, voice oozing with malice.  _ That’s right, you fucking bastard. Be afraid. You’re in  _ my  _ car now. _ His pupils took over the whites of his eyes. This was thrilling. “If you’ve got to go, then go with style!”

Hastur was shrieking. “Stop! You’re crazy!”

“How’s it feel?” Crowley hissed. “You feel afraid, Duke Hastur? A demon, afraid of a little fire?”

Hastur burned up in the seat next to him. “I hate you!” he shouted.

Crowley cackled and, for the first time, felt liberated.

-

Crowley had been yanked to the ground, Satan’s rising presence hurting like a motherfucker. “We are fucked!” he yelled.

Aziraphale picked up the flaming sword. “Come up with something! Or.” He looked at the sword.

Crowley’s stomach dropped. No, Aziraphale wouldn’t, would he? After all this time? After 6,000 years of trusting him with his life?

Aziraphale lowered his arm. “Or I’ll never talk to you again.”

Oh. That was worse. Crowley gathered all of his strength, forced himself up onto his feet through the pain, and stopped time.

* * *

The bus drove up the road.

“I suppose I should have him drop me off at the bookshop,” Aziraphale said.

A dull pang to Crowley’s heart.  _ Oh, angel.  _ “It burned down,” he reminded him quietly. “Remember?”

Aziraphale’s face fell and he looked away, eyes glistening.

Aw, no. Crowley let him look like that. “You can stay at my place, if you’d like,” he offered. He was rejected twice in one day, but the third time’s the charm, eh?

Aziraphale turned to him, apprehensive and, seemingly, a little touched. “What about your side?” he asked. “Won’t they be angry?”

“I don’t have a side anymore,” Crowley said with certainty. “Neither of us do. We’re on our own side.”

Aziraphale looked away, but he didn’t argue.

“Besides, I don’t think they’d ever take me back, now that I killed a demon.”

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped to his, jaw dropping. “You did? Today?”

“Yeah. I used the holy water you gave me. I told you they found out I botched the anti-Christ business.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Oh.”

The bus came and they got up. Once seated on the bus, Aziraphale said, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he frowned.

Aziraphale’s eyes were downcast. “Earlier, I dismissed you, but you wanted to run away because you were in legitimate danger. You weren’t tempting me.”

“ _ That’s _ what you thought?” 

Shame was on his face. “That is your thing, you know. However. You’re my friend and I should have trusted you, especially because  _ I  _ was the one lying today. I apologize.”

Crowley looked out the window. “It’s whatever. It’s over. It was a bad day for all of us.”

“You truly were asking for insurance,” Aziraphale said. “You always knew they could come after you.”

Crowley’s hand formed a fist atop his knee. He couldn’t place the tone of Aziraphale’s voice. The best way he could describe it was someone coming to a conclusion they, in fact, knew all along. He didn’t know what it meant.

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Crowley said. He wanted to drop subject. “Now, any ideas for the meaning of Agnes’ last prophecy?”

* * *

“No,” Crowley shook his head, pacing. “Absolutely not.”

“But it will work!” Aziraphale insisted. “Agnes has never been wrong.”

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “No way.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “Do you have a better idea?”

Silence. Crowley gulped, heart beating in his ears.

“That’s what I thought,” Aziraphale said smugly. “It’s our only option.”

“No,” he said stubbornly.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and folded his hands atop his lap, looking out of place on the sofa in Crowley’s flat. “Really, we don’t have the time to argue until dawn.”

Crowley knew Aziraphale was right, but that didn’t stop his palms from sweating and his stomach from hurting. “You’re not going to Hell.”

“It’ll only be for a little while. We’ll both be back in our own skin before we know it.”

Images of Aziraphale in his body being burnt to a crisp by hellfire made him want to gag. If Hell knew they had an angel in their domain, the best case scenario would be a quick death. He couldn’t let him do it. He already thought he lost Aziraphale once today and he wouldn’t survive losing him for real. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is.”

“It’s not!” Crowley shouted, no longer pacing.

Aziraphale had the gall to look bored. “Stop being ridiculous.”

Crowley had the most insane day of his life and he was incapable of holding anything in, after a lifetime of keeping everything locked away inside. “You don’t know how terrible they are. If they find out you’re not me, they’ll torture you until you beg for death. It’ll be a game for them—which demon can hurt the angel the most? Causing suffering is part of a demon’s identity and I will  _ not  _ have you at their mercy.”

“I can look after myself,” Aziraphale said sternly. “I know the risks involved. I’m not thrilled about you going to Heaven, either, but it’s all we can do.”

Crowley’s fists shook. “You don’t get it,” he said through gritted teeth. “They’ll hurt your wings. They’ll burn you. They’ll take everything from you,” his voice cracked. He stopped talking and adjusted his glasses, a nervous tic. 

Aziraphale’s posture grew more tense, but the irritation was leaving him. “Crowley,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

Crowley found breathing difficult at the moment. “I know from experience that I do.” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. He blinked a few times. He stood up and took a couple steps forward, getting in his personal space. He grasped his hands.

“What’re you doing?” Crowley asked, voice rising in pitch.

“What did they do to you?” Aziraphale asked slowly, voice gentle as a lamb’s but fire igniting in his eyes. “Because I promise, they’ll never do it again as long as I’m here.”

Crowley’s throat constricted painfully and his eyes felt hot. That was weird. What was happening? “N-nothing.”

Aziraphale reached up a hand and brushed the back of his curved fingers against his jaw. “Whatever it was, I’m sorry.”

Crowley could only breathe out of his mouth, because it felt like his lungs were going to explode. What was this? Why was Aziraphale doing this? They never did this. Not ever. He sucked in a deep breath, and it sounded suspiciously unsteady. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not,” Aziraphale murmured, and he caressed his jawline. 

Crowley shivered, his breaths sounding like he just went for a run. He was rooted to the spot, and couldn’t have stopped him if he tried. It felt too good. “You are. I’m not some human child. I’m one of the Fallen.”

“I know that,” Aziraphale said patiently. “That doesn’t change a thing.”

“Of course it does,” he said stubbornly. It wasn’t a good response, but it was hard to think with Aziraphale’s fingers on his skin. How was he expected to come up with something clever? “Why are you doing this?” he asked, voice strained.

“Because I want to,” he said simply.

“There’s got to be more than that.”

“You’re right. It’s because you deserve this.”

Crowley tried shaking his head, but Aziraphale gently grasped his chin in his hand. Then, he let go of his other hand and removed the glasses from his face.

Crowley gaped helplessly at him. “Angel?” He was exposed and it was terrifying, but he didn’t want the touches to stop. This was his dream come true and yet he had no idea how to do this.

“Please tell me,” Aziraphale murmured, earnest blue eyes meeting his. “You don’t like how they treat you, do you? And you’re afraid for me.”

Crowley pressed his lips together tightly. He nodded silently.

“If our plan succeeds, then they’ll leave us alone forever. They’ll leave  _ you  _ alone forever. We’ll be free.” The faintest grin. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Crowley found his voice. “And you’d wanna be free, with me?”

“Oh, goodness, yes.”

It had to have been too good to be true. Crowley had a hunch that Aziraphale’s outbursts earlier today were from a crisis of faith and he’d been, in a nutshell, full of shit, but he was still skeptical. “But…”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said solemnly, “you’ve rescued me from so much danger over the years. Please trust me. We  _ will  _ succeed, and then, Hell will be off your back forever. If they ever return, I’ll protect you.”

“But that’s my job,” he blurted out, and immediately wanted to jump out the window. Why was he such an idiot?!

But Aziraphale made a  _ tsk  _ sound, hand still on his chin. “You’ve done enough for me. I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.” He lowered his eyes, and they landed somewhere on his chest. “And I’m sorry for never seeing the unhappiness you’ve endured.”

Crowley finally shook his head out of his grasp, flushing and wishing he could hide his face. “No, you’ve got it wrong,” he denied.

Aziraphale swallowed audibly. “You realize I won’t judge you if you admit it, yes?”

Crowley couldn’t take it, and he took his hands away and took his glasses back. He put them on and turned away, chest heaving as he breathed through the desire to flee. 

“I wish you’d told me earlier about what you were going through, is all,” Aziraphale mumbled.

Crowley scowled. “Why? There was nothing you could do to change it.”

“No, but I could have been someone you could talk to about it.”

Crowley just shrugged, not knowing what to say.

“Tell me you’ll swap with me,” Aziraphale said, dropping the subject. “I wouldn’t suggest this if I didn’t have faith in Agnes.”

Crowley looked down at his shoes. It truly seemed like there was no other choice, and somehow, Aziraphale’s confidence bolstered his own. “Okay. Just promise me, Aziraphale, that you’ll be careful.”

“And you promise the same to me.”

“I do.”

“Good. Now. Shall we begin?”


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley had to try very hard not to let his all-consuming relief show when Aziraphale came up the elevator in his body. It worked. They really made it. Hell didn’t kill Aziraphale, and Crowley wasn’t forced into holy water. Agnes was right. Heaven and Hell feared _ them_. Things actually worked out in the end. What a wild thought.

They switched back on the bench, and Crowley allowed himself to laugh out loud when Aziraphale told him about Michael miracling him the towel. He was under no false illusion that Heaven and Hell would leave earth alone forever. They would come eventually, but they seemed thoroughly done with him and Aziraphale, and for now, that was what mattered. 6,000 years of being Hell’s agent on earth were finished.

“I scared the daylights out of them,” Aziraphale said proudly. “I splashed holy water at the demons watching from behind the glass.”

“You didn’t,” Crowley smirked.

“I absolutely did.”

“Well, I breathed hellfire at the archangels.”

“Oh, I wish I’d been there to see it!” he laughed, and then settled down. “The point is, Crowley, that I doubt they will ever be knocking on your door again.”

Crowley looked at the people walking in the park, feeling embarrassed about his pseudo-panic attack last night. “Mmm.”

Aziraphale stood up. “Won’t you come back to my shop?”

“Don’t you want lunch?” he asked in surprise.

“Not right now. I’d like to be alone with you.”

“Uh, okay. Sounds ominous,” he joked.

“Not at all,” he gave him a friendly smile. “Do come along, please.”

“All right.” Crowley walked with him with his hands in his pockets, acting like he wasn’t actually freaking out on the inside. Aziraphale was uncharacteristically quiet. That didn’t do anything to help his nerves. “You’re weirding me out a bit, not gonna lie.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “I apologize for being cryptic, but it’s a conversation I think we’d both rather have in private.”

“Okay then.” Shit, was it going to be about last night, and how panicked he was? He hoped not. That was embarrassing. Once inside the shop, Crowley shut the door behind him. “What’s up, angel?” he asked casually.

Aziraphale took off his coat and fixed his bow tie. “Well, we’re free men now. Or, supernatural entities.”

“Yeah?”

“That means if we break the rules of Heaven and Hell, it won’t matter anymore.”

“Riiight?”

“So we can do as we please.”

“Uh huh.”

“And even if they wanted to reprimand us, they believe we’re utterly indestructible and not members of their kind anymore, so they can do nothing to stop us.”

“You got a point?”

“Yes, in fact.” Aziraphale had a determined look on his face. “I’ve been thinking a lot over the past twenty-four hours, and I’ve decided I’m quite tired of not doing exactly what I want.” He strode forward and brought Crowley into a bear hug.

Crowley spluttered, bending down and tripping a little. “Uh. Um. Kay.”

Aziraphale squeezed him lightly. “I’ve wanted to do this again for ages.”

_ Again. _“You remember?”

“Of course I do,” Aziraphale said into his ear, breath ghosting against his skin. “But we’re unemployed, Crowley. They won’t come after you anymore, and I can finally do this.”

The meaning of his words hit Crowley like a monster truck, and he had to grab onto Aziraphale’s waistcoat to steady himself. He smelled like cinnamon and vanilla, and Crowley had to stop himself from sniffing his hair like a weirdo. “You...you never did it again _ just _because of Hell?”

Aziraphale sighed sadly. “Not just because of them. Heaven played a significant role, as well. I was frightened for both of our safety, and Heaven convinced me it was wrong to want to do this with someone like you, but they turned out to be wrong about many things. If they were wrong about the apocalypse, then why wouldn’t they be wrong about you, too? You were always there for me more than they.”

Crowley’s fingers tightened around the fabric of his waistcoat, legs feeling wobbly. “Is it that easy for you to change your mind?”

Aziraphale pulled back a little so he could look at him. He was pursing his lips. “It wasn’t so much about changing my mind as it was acknowledging my true thoughts on the matter. After years of buildup, I suppose it only took one big push for me to accept that I want to do this with you, Crowley.”

“H-hugging?” he stammered.

Aziraphale grinned. “Yes, but more than that. Would you remove your glasses? I’d like to see you.”

In a way, Crowley didn’t want to remove his armor, but the idea of someone wanting to see his eyes made his heart thump. He obeyed and put them in his pocket. 

Aziraphale cupped his cheeks in his hands, and Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. Aziraphale bit his lower lip. “I don’t know what they did to you, Crowley, and you can tell me, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I know I can’t erase anything, but this is a new era for us.” He licked his lips. He was nervous, but pushed on. “We’re safe, so now, I only need your permission to progress our relationship. I want to make you happy.”

Crowley was so flabbergasted that he didn’t know his lip was quivering. His brain was like a crashing computer. “Buh, but why d’you want to do that?”

Aziraphale grew upset by his question. “You...Because I love you, Crowley, don’t you see?”

He wheezed, vision blurring. “No one loves demons,” he said in a small voice.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale said sorrowfully, “but I _ do _.”

It had been a long, long existence as a demon, and in 2019, Crowley finally broke. He sagged into Aziraphale’s arms and let out one harsh sob before burying his face into his neck. Aziraphale’s arms were around him immediately, holding him up. He stroked his back through his suit jacket and breathed out gentle _ shhhh _s. Crowley clung to him for dear life, shaking in his embrace, shoulders hunched. 

“Why am I crying?” he asked into Aziraphale’s neck. “I shouldn’t want this,” he hissed, but only because he couldn’t control it, not out of anger. “I shouldn’t love you but I do. Fuck, Aziraphale, I _ love _you.” He never said he loved anyone or anything before, but the words came out so easily, like a dam bursting.

Aziraphale hugged him tighter. “Thank you,” he said thickly. “Thank you for telling me, dearheart.”

Crowley’s brain short-circuited further at the pet name and he buried his face into the softness of his shoulder, shaking harder.

Aziraphale’s hand was now stroking his neck up into his hair. “Shh, it’ll be all right,” he whispered, not sounding much more composed than Crowley. “My brave boy, it’ll be all right.”

_ My brave boy. _Crowley was going to melt into a puddle of goo. His knees were going to give out and Aziraphale would have to pick him up. In all of his fantasies involving Aziraphale, he never pictured crying in front of him. It was new and his instincts kept telling him to stop, but the warmth of the embrace told him it was okay. He still tried speaking. “When’d this happen?” he managed to ask. “When’d you start wanting this?”

Aziraphale kept petting his hair. “I don’t know for sure. I became aware of it in 1941, but I’m quite good at ignoring the obvious,” he said, self-deprecating. “I knew I wanted to hold you again.”

Crowley sniffled and lifted his face. “That’s when I knew,” he admitted.

“But you were worried about Hell seeing our embrace. Once I sobered up, I was worried about what Heaven would do, too. That’s why I never touched you again. No matter how much I loved you, I would never compromise your safety.”

He remembered Aziraphale’s vehement denial of their friendship yesterday. “Were you afraid of this?” he asked roughly, tears still leaking from his eyes.

Aziraphale’s expression was filled with remorse. “Yes. I was afraid Hell would kill you, Heaven would disown me, and, well, I admit I was afraid of loving you because you’re a demon.” He sighed heavily. “I promise I finally got everything through my thick skull, as they say.”

“I get it. I was afraid, too,” he confessed in a mumble.

“I know,” Aziraphale whispered, and wiped a tear from his cheek with his thumb. “But you loved me anyway, through all those years. You were always braver than I.”

Crowley sniffled again. “Not really.”

Aziraphale wiped a tear from his other cheek. “You risked your life rescuing me how many times?”

Silence.

“That’s my point.”

“It was nothing,” he dismissed.

“It certainly was something,” he said, thumb stroking his cheekbone.

Crowley leaned into his touch subconsciously, yearning it.

“Do you like when I touch you?” he asked.

Crowley nodded.

“I’ll do it as much as you like. What do you want me to do now?”

Crowley shut his eyes, taking a deep breath, face flushing. “Kiss me.”

Aziraphale’s lips met his in an instant. They were soft, plush, and inexplicably tasted of something sweet. His hands were cupping Crowley’s cheeks and his breath was warm on his face. He pressed against his lips more, and slowly parted his lips to deepen the kiss. 

Crowley realized he was over 6,000 years-old and he had no idea how to kiss. He tried, though, warmth spreading through his chest and into his belly. He clutched Aziraphale’s shoulders, heart thumping. He remembered the first time he felt that, and he smiled.

Aziraphale smiled, too. “What’s so funny?” he mumbled against his lips.

Crowley liked the way that felt. “Do you remember, long ago,” he began in an equally soft voice, “when I asked you about my heart beating hard?”

It took him a moment, but then Aziraphale said, “Yes, I do. Why?”

“It was actually ‘cause I was falling in love with you.”

Aziraphale’s giggles were music to his ears, and he couldn’t help but laugh at himself.

“You silly thing,” Aziraphale swept his thumbs across his cheeks. He kissed him again, moving one hand down to grasp his waist. The movement of his lips was tender, but not hesitant. He parted and closed his lips against his, and tilted his head and did it again, and the new angle felt good. He caressed his mouth, dipping in and pulling back, and doing it again and again. Crowley’s body was awash in warmth and his heart was full. It felt better than he imagined, but he still wanted more. He had no patience after 6,000 years. Crowley kissed his bottom lip, and then sucked it lightly.

“Mmmm,” Aziraphale hummed. “Good job, love,” he whispered before kissing him again.

The words sent an unexpected ripple through Crowley’s body.

Aziraphale broke the kiss. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he breathed. “Keep going.”

Aziraphale kissed him more, and coaxed him into open-mouthed kisses. Crowley wrapped his arms around his neck, needing more, his throat going tight again. This was really happening. The only person he truly loved felt the same way. It had to be a trick. What if Aziraphale came to his senses and realized he was kissing the Damned? They were on their own side, but it didn’t change who or what he was. If he lost this, after knowing the taste of Aziraphale’s lips, that wound would never heal. The words spoken in the Bentley in 1967 still stung, and Crowley could picture him saying this was all a mistake and avoiding him for a century. The thought made his heart clench with panic.

“A-are you sure?” Crowley’s frantic question broke the kiss.

“Sure?”

“That you wanna do this. “Don’t give me what I want and change your mind. Don’t be...” _ cruel. I can’t take it anymore. _“Don’t be a bastard.”

Aziraphale was crestfallen. “Crowley, I only did this because I’m absolutely sure it is what I want.” He nuzzled a kiss to his lips. “I won’t hurt you. Not again,” he swore.

Crowley wanted to believe him. His fear told him not to. “I…” It was Hell’s stupid influence on him. Even with the love of his life kissing him, they still had power over him, and he hated it. He shook his head. “I need to get over those arseholes in Hell. You’re not one of them. I dunno why I’m acting weird.”

Aziraphale’s expression only became more distraught. “Darling, it might take a long time for you to get over Hell, and for me to get over Heaven, frankly. But I’ll be by your side. You don’t have to move on alone.”

The jitters in his chest subsided. “Can we forget I said anything and kiss?”

“I won’t forget, but I’ll certainly kiss you.”

Aziraphale kissed his grumble away, warm and insistent. The conversation must have moved him, because he was absolutely doting on Crowley, nuzzling their noses together and kissing him achingly softly. Crowley let himself admit he was relishing the affection. He gasped softly when Aziraphale’s tongue traced his bottom lip, and then slowly licked its way inside his mouth. Crowley opened his eyes just to roll them and shut them again, his tongue meeting that hot wetness. Fuck, that was good. Aziraphale’s tongue retreated and he sucked his upper lip, sending a jolt of pleasure to his cock. Crowley couldn’t hold back a whine, not while he was being fucking _ sucked _, not while his cock was twitching. Oh, oh shit, what if his cock was being sucked instead? The thought made him get harder. He tried to hold it back, though, and focus on kissing him.

Aziraphale went back to a soft, deep kiss against his lips. He pulled back a little, just enough so Crowley could see how red his lips were. “Did you like that?” he asked roughly.

Oh, Crowley adored that tone. “Yeah,” he breathed.

“Me too.”

“You can keep doing it, you know.”

Aziraphale did, and somehow, his kisses were even deeper this time and Crowley lost himself in them. Reality became a hazy combination of Aziraphale’s lips, the sounds of their breathing and mouths wetly gliding together, and his mind saying _ I love you I love you I love you. _Aziraphale held him and kissed him with reverence, like he was a thing to be cherished and not a beast of Hell. Crowley didn’t know how anyone as amazing as Aziraphale could want to touch him this way, but he was grateful.

Crowley kissed him until his lips were numb, trying out closed and open-mouthed kisses, licks, nips, sucks, and deciding he liked all of it, especially the sounds they would inspire from Aziraphale. Who knew an angel’s moans were so arousing? He, himself, really liked when Aziraphale licked and then sucked his lip, in that order, and found it increasingly difficult to hold back noises of his own. It was heavy between his legs, and he moaned in relief when there was pressure against his bulge. Aziraphale had gradually pushed him against the wall, and Crowley had a leg wrapped around his waist. They stopped kissing and gazed at each other with dark, shining, almost drunken eyes.

“Did I get carried away?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shook his head. “Please keep going,” he said, missing his kisses. It was cheesy and sappy as fuck, but it had felt like Aziraphale was loving him with each kiss, and it was an utterly addicting feeling. He needed more. 

Aziraphale’s face was beautifully pink. “Are you sure?”

Crowley nodded enthusiastically. Aziraphale placed a kiss on his lips, but then tilted his head down and kissed his jawline.

Crowley’s mouth dropped open. This was unexpected, but not at all unwelcome. Oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck, were they going to have sex? Oh, fucking bloody fuck, he was going to discorporate. Aziraphale smothered kisses against the underside of his jaw, moving down the sensitive skin of his neck. Crowley’s chest was heaving, because he could have sworn he felt the fondness in each kiss, but that couldn’t be possible. Still, the feeling made him let out a small cry, hands holding Aziraphale’s head against his neck.

Aziraphale raised his face in alarm. “Are—?”

“Don’t stop,” Crowley blurted out, and his voice sounded wrecked even to his own ears, but he never felt this way before and it felt like he was going to explode. “I need you,” he rasped.

Aziraphale’s face filled with unhidden adoration. He ran a hand down Crowley’s chest, smoothing down his clavicle and to his navel. He kissed his cheek. “I adore you,” he said shyly, but reverently. “Do you want more, dear? Do you want me to make love to you?”

Crowley nodded, and felt close to the verge of tears. Why was he crying so much? He was happy. 

Oh, right. He was happy. These were happy tears.

He wiped his tears away and blinked. “Aziraphale?”

“It’s okay,” he told him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth and then, delicately, on each eyelid, causing him to shiver. “Promise you’ll stop me if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I will.” He bit his lip, holding back a sob. “Why am I like this right now? I like this. I want this. Do humans cry during sex? Do you know?” he asked desperately.

Aziraphale’s smile was sympathetic. “Some of them do. It can be an emotional thing between ones who are in love.”

“Euuurgh. That’s gross,” he said out of habit. What dumb thing to say while he had tears in his eyes.

“From what I heard, it’s wonderful,” Aziraphale said. “I would love to experience that with you, but only if you want to.”

“Do I need to say it an umpteenth time?”

“Point taken. But don’t be ashamed of your response, Crowley. Not in front of me. I want you to be free around me.”

Crowley wrapped his arms around his neck again and kissed him soundly, and his jitters calmed with the knowledge that Aziraphale would make sure he was okay. “Okay. Now shut up and let’s move somewhere other than the wall.”

* * *

Aziraphale had brought him up to the old bed above the bookshop he barely used and undressed him, glowing with fondness. He licked and sucked his nipples, which brought Crowley to full hardness as he squirmed and moaned beneath him. Aziraphale ran his hands over his bare skin, from his chest down to his thighs, and he said, “You’re quite the sight.”

Crowley had blushed harder and looked away, biting his lower lip when he started leaking from his tip.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Aziraphale had said in response, and wrapped his hand around him.

Crowley made a series of strangled vowels and bucked into his hips. It was so much better than his own hand, but he needed more. He grasped Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Kiss,” he hissed, tongue forked and fangs out. “Kiss, please.”

Aziraphale’s face melted and he leaned down to kiss him. Crowley had loved the combination of being kissed and stroked at the same time, and happiness bubbled inside of him.

“You’re doing so well,” Aziraphale had told him sincerely as he peppered kisses to his face. “My lovely boy.”

Crowley had moaned loudly and hugged him tightly, chest feeling like a balloon about to pop. He was being taken care of, and it was amazing but overwhelming.

Aziraphale had stroked him until he leaked steady and was aching for release, nipples perked and slack-jawed as he panted. The pleasure was all over his body, swirling and singing and leaving him wonderfully dazed. He never felt so good before and he had to throw an arm over his eyes, because Aziraphale’s utterly adoring gaze was too much to bear. He had moaned louder when Aziraphale made him loose and slick, the pleasure building up in a new place, a place he never touched before, and he needed him so bloody badly. He had to claw into the sheets for something to anchor him to earth. He felt like he was losing his mind, but in the best way possible.

Aziraphale held his hand as he pushed inside him, gasping breathy little _ uh! _ sounds.

Crowley removed his arm from his eyes, needing to see what Aziraphale was like in the heat of the moment, and was not disappointed. He was mesmerized as Aziraphale thrust into him, ecstasy painted beautifully on his features.

“Beautiful,” Crowley had said without his brain’s consent and touched his face.

Aziraphale’s smile was sweet as pie. “Th-thank you, _ ungh _, darling.”

Crowley whimpered, the praise sitting nicely in his chest. He never let himself be this vulnerable in front of anyone, naked and writhing on his back, but Aziraphale was filling him with pleasure from head to toe, from the way he brushed Crowley’s fringe from his forehead to how he had to curl his toes when he threw his head back with a shout. It was exhilarating. Aziraphale placed a sloppy kiss directly into his snake tattoo, and in that moment, Crowley’s body and soul felt loved in a sudden burst of all-consuming light, his chest swelling so much it almost hurt, and he cried out as the climbing wave of pleasure crashed down and spilled hot and sticky on his stomach. It was a feeling somehow new and familiar at the same time. He had known the warmth of celestial love long ago, but thought he lost it forever, but it was here in his essence, wrapping around him and refusing to let go. It was so much better than Her love, though, so much better. His eyes were shut and his cheeks were damp as he gasped for air, whimpering again when Aziraphale came and moaned that he was the best thing that had ever happened to him. His brain felt a bit fuzzy after that, and when it slowly came back online, he realized his skin was being caressed.

Aziraphale was behind them and they were both on their sides now, and he was hesitantly running a finger down the scars where the base of his wings would be.

Crowley closed his eyes. “They were burnt when I Fell,” he explained in a mumble. His voice was scratchy, but that implied he was loud during sex, so he mentally ignored them. “They didn’t turn black out of nowhere, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said.

“Don’t be.”

He shuffled closer and wrapped his arm around his waist, pressing his body against him. “I tried something, did you feel it? For angels, love is a tangible thing. I tried to make your essence feel it and, well, you finished after that.”

“Holy shit, _ that’s _what that was?” he asked, turning his head to stare wide-eyed at him. “I knew I felt something.”

“Good,” he hummed happily. “I needed you to feel my love for you.”

Crowley sighed. “I don’t think I can do the same thing, sorry.”

Aziraphale pecked the back of his neck. “I know you love me. You’ve been showing me for a long time.”

If he wasn’t already hot and sweating, he would have blushed. “Blegh,” was all he said. His eyelids fluttered shut when Aziraphale started to slowly run a hand through his hair. “I’m not some cat,” he mumbled.

“No, you’re a snake. Your tongue had gone forked earlier, you know.”

“No, I didn’t,” he said honestly. “Huh.” He opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder. “When’d you get good at sex, anyway?”

Aziraphale smiled shyly. “Was it good? I’ve only done that particular act a few times and I was worried.”

“Of course it was good,” Crowley turned his face away again. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“I had a sex several times throughout time starting with the 11th century, but I abstained after that until humans’ overall hygiene improved.”

Crowley snorted. “I don’t blame you.” He felt a rumble of a hum in his chest when Aziraphale’s blunt fingernails lightly scratched his scalp. “Mmmf.”

Aziraphale kissed the shell of his ear. “I’m happy you shared sex with me.”

“Shaddup.” He was hiding a smile. He was...content.

Aziraphale gave him a little squeeze. “I’m going to make you feel so splendid, Crowley.”

He covered his face with his hands. “Shaduuuuuup,” he groaned into his palms.

“So wonderfully splendid,” Aziraphale cuddled his face into his back in between his shoulder blades. “My sweet devil.”

“My arsehole angel,” Crowley mumbled, lowering his hands, not sure what to do with how peaceful he felt.

“You recite the finest poetry,” Aziraphale teased.

Feeling, just maybe, a bit lovey-dovey himself, Crowley put his hand on top of his. “Age does not wither, nor custom stale his infinite variety.”

Aziraphale inhaled audibly, and stopped playing with his hair. “That’s...not quite right.”

“_Shakespeare _didn’t get it right. I’m the one who said it first, remember?” Of course he had been talking about Aziraphale, his bitchy beacon of sunshine who only grew more fascinating and lovable to Crowley as time passed.

Aziraphale gently grasped his chin and turned his face back, meeting him with a kiss. “Crowley,” he said seriously.

“Yeah?”

“Heaven didn’t deserve you.”

Crowley’s lips parted. “That’s…” He never thought of it from that view, and it made him want to cry again, which was lame, so he said, “You, too. They never deserved you, Aziraphale.”

The adoration on his face was breathtaking. “I’m just now beginning to believe that,” Aziraphale said, and then met his lips in a gentle kiss.

* * *

Crowley could say with certainty that his life got better. Thousands of years of trauma and terror from Hell itself didn’t go away on that sunny, lazy afternoon, but things were different now. Slowly, he opened up to Aziraphale about what happened to him since he was thrown into Hell. Aziraphale always listened, always assured him he didn’t deserve it, and even kissed the scars on his back from time to time, usually after sex. Crowley had nightmares sometimes, but he would go to Aziraphale and get a hug. 

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale took his reading glasses. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No such thing,” Crowley croaked distractedly, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. It was the first time he’d gotten a nightmare since they got together. He knew it wasn’t real, but his stomach hurt from anxiety anyway. “Come to bed.”

“I don’t sleep, and I was reading.”

“Please,” Crowley murmured, lips barely moving, suppressing a shiver down his spine.

Aziraphale looked him up and down seriously. “Yes, all right.”

Once in bed, Crowley wordlessly buried his face into his chest, inhaling the calming scent of cinnamon and vanilla, and fell asleep after feeling the rise and fall of his chest for a few minutes.

After the sixth time Crowley came to him, wide-eyed and pale, Aziraphale decided to regularly come to bed. He could easily bring books to their large, comfortable bed, anyway, and he would even give up reading at night if it meant making him feel better. Sometimes, while Crowley slumbered in his arms, he began to shake and whine low in his throat. Aziraphale never did stop feeling guilty about leaving him alone with his nightmare several decades ago, and his heart tugged painfully when Crowley clutched his nightshirt in sleep and shook like a leaf.

Aziraphale would usually whisper, “Your nightmare will dissipate into something sweet and lovely,” and place a kiss on his forehead.

Crowley would always grow still and his features would smooth out completely. He was never explicitly told Aziraphale did this, but when he went years without a single nightmare, he had his suspicions.

His nightmares weren’t the only thing that went away. The sudden, sharp pain that would come with assignments was gone forever, and Crowley wasn’t afraid to listen to the radio anymore, or watch television, or just fucking live his life.

Crowley listened to Aziraphale, too, for he wasn’t the only one who suffered. He kissed the tears from his cheeks as he told his side of the story about his own fear and struggle to break free from Heaven’s indoctrination. When Crowley held him against his chest during those difficult conversations, he thought of how they were never really so different, after all. He knew Aziraphale’s bad memories would never disappear, either, but he swore to always be there for him. Crowley’s optimistic side, which actually never failed him, in the end, told him that even though the effects of thousands of years of their bosses breathing down their necks probably wouldn’t ever disappear completely, it would be okay as long as they had each other. There he was, a demon, thinking something so soppy. 

All in all, though, life after the apocalypse was brilliant. The only person he had to worry about getting in trouble with was Aziraphale, and he knew the worst punishment possible would be a glare, irritated huff, and the silent treat for a few hours. They were like proper humans, now, having domestic spats over dumb stuff but making up and forgetting how the bickering even started in the first place. They moved in together, too, because why the fuck not?

* * *

Aziraphale sometimes paid special attention to the angry scars on his back. He would trail his lips down the roughened skin while running his hands up and down Crowley’s sides soothingly.

“C’mon, don’t lie,” Crowley had mumbled one night, lying on his stomach and his head pillowed on his folded arms. “They’re not pretty. Don’t act like they are. It’s insulting.” He wasn’t actually angry; he appreciated that Aziraphale tried to make him feel better about how his back looked, but he wasn’t blind.

Aziraphale paused his ministrations. “No, they’re not pretty,” Aziraphale said from behind him, kneeling on the bed. “You...you must understand how much I wish you hadn’t gone through your suffering—“

Crowley grumbled into his arms, heart heavy.

“—however, would you not say being a demon is part of who you are?”

“Yes,” he admitted easily. He wasn’t angelic—would never be angelic again—and he resembled humanity, but would never truly be one of them. Being a demon was part of him, just as being an angel was part of Aziraphale.

A tender hand down his spine, stroking his skin and running over the scars where his right wing would be. “Well, these are part of you, and I love you,” Aziraphale said, voice barely above a whisper.

There was a lump in Crowley’s throat, and he never did think rationally when emotional, so he blurted out, “But you’d love me more if I didn’t have these, or anything else demonic.”

Aziraphale gasped softly, and he took him by the shoulders and pulled him upright on the bed, so he was sitting.

“What?” Crowley squirmed at being man-handled.

But then Aziraphale was hugging him tightly, arms wrapped around his chest tightly. He breathed _ no, no, no _ into Crowley’s shoulder, voice breathy and distraught. He nuzzled soft kisses into his pale shoulder. “Honey,” Aziraphale whispered into his ear, “I love you _ exactly _as you are, demonic and Fallen and all. You wouldn’t be you any other way, and I’m so very fond of you.”

Crowley had simultaneously squawked and melted at the new term of endearment. But Aziraphale’s other words sunk in, and he absorbed them, mulling them over, his heart swelling.

“Speak to me,” Aziraphale begged, hugging him tighter.

Crowley grunted. “You’re kinda crushing me.”

Aziraphale’s embrace loosened. “Sorry.”

Crowley turned around in the hug and kissed his worried frown. He saw the concern and adoration in Aziraphale’s eyes, for him, only for him. “I’m being stupid again, aren’t I?”

“Just a tad,” Aziraphale said and kissed his forehead. He pressed his lips together. “Why don’t you show me your wings?”

“My wings?” he asked. They never brought them out.

“I want to see every lovely bit of you.”

Crowley blushed, still not entirely used to his flattery. He was shirtless but had pajama bottoms on, so he joked, “What, you wanna see me naked, too?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley blushed harder. “Oh. Ok-kay.” And that was how he was standing in the bedroom above the bookshop, nude and stretching his raven black wings.

Aziraphale had a ridiculously dreamy look on his face. “Oh, they’re just as lovely as I remembered. You belong in a museum.”

Crowley had no fucking clue how to respond other than hiding his hot, cherry-red face in his hands. “_ Angel,” _he groaned.

“If I’m making you uncomfortable, we can stop.”

“No,” he said into his palms. It was just that he didn’t know what to do with all of this maddening love threatening to burst from his veins. He felt like a volcano about to erupt. “This is good,” he mumbled. “Just come kiss me,” he said, lifting his face. “I’m dying over here.”

That night, Crowley discovered his wings were actually really damn sensitive, and if Aziraphale wanted to touch them in the future, he’d bring them out again in an instant. 

“Don’t hold back,” Aziraphale told him between searing kisses. “Show me every part of you, Crowley.”

His eyes went fully yellow and his tongue was forked. His fangs came out and scales appeared on his back around the base of his wings. Aziraphale told him how handsome he thought he was as he buried his hands into his feathers, stroking. Crowley kissed and licked him with his serpent tongue, able to tease both his upper and lower lips with each part of his forked tongue. Before long, though, he was just moaning loudly against his mouth and grinding against his hip as Aziraphale worshipped his wings, stroking through the silky feathers.

“I wish I had a camera,” Aziraphale told him. 

Crowley fought past a moan. “Like you know how to wuh-work a camera.”

Aziraphale then took his hand away from his left wing and pressed his thumb against the swell of his forked tongue. “Shush,” he smirked.

Crowley couldn’t laugh with him, could only whine against his thumb as his right wing tingled with pleasure, his toes curling. He was fully hard solely from his wings being petted. It was bonkers. It was fantastic. His nightmares used to be of Hastur torturing his wings, but here was Aziraphale, his hands causing each feather to fill with white hot bliss. Aziraphale was petting both of his wings again, along with pressing kisses to his jaw. Crowley threw his head back and cried out, letting Aziraphale love his body.

Afterwards, he was lying on his side, panting, eyes closed, wings quivering with the aftershocks of his orgasm. 

Aziraphale brushed his hair away from his sweaty forehead. “Do you feel better now?” he asked sincerely.

Crowley couldn’t help but snort. “Oh yeah, angel. I’d say so.” He opened his eyes.

Aziraphale’s smile was soft but his eyes were bright. “I’m happy to hear that.”

“So...can I touch your wings now?” He was already getting a little aroused again at the idea of Aziraphale moaning and swearing as Crowley stroked his pearly white feathers.

Aziraphale licked his lips, flushing. “If you’re offering…”

Crowley smirked. “Hell yeah, I am,” he sat up and flapped his wings once, proud and feeling just a little bit giddy.

* * *

Eighty-seven years into their relationship, they were lounging on the sofa in their cottage on a Friday afternoon. Crowley had his head pillowed on Aziraphale’s jumper-clad chest, arms wrapped around his soft middle. He was drooling, but only because he always drooled when Aziraphale pet his hair while he was sleeping, it wasn’t his fault. Aziraphale knew what he was getting into when his fingernails grazed his scalp, so he had no right to complain about the damp patch on his jumper.

The television had the local news on a quiet hum, but it flickered, and then Hastur was sitting there.

“Crowley. Found you. It’s—” He stopped talking abruptly, blinking. “Wh—what is this?”

Aziraphale held his arm around Crowley protectively, anger filling his veins with heat. He put down the book he was reading on the side table, keeping very calm and making as little noise as possible, because his sweetheart deserved a nice snooze. “Get off the screen,” he said quietly but sternly.

“What’s he _ doing?” _Hastur asked in blatant disgust.

If Crowley had been awake, he would have threatened Hastur with a hose of holy water he didn’t actually have if he even thought about harming Aziraphale. As it was, however, Crowley was dead to the world, the scent of Aziraphale and the thick fabric of the jumper against his cheek making him feel safe in sleep. He even let out a snore.

“Napping,” Aziraphale said. 

“Why’s he on top of you?” Hastur’s contempt for the sight in front of him was apparent, but so was his befuddlement.

“I’m in no mood for twenty questions,” he said impatiently. “Leave. Whatever you want, he won’t do it. Whatever you want to do, I won’t let you. You can’t hurt him anymore…” Aziraphale blinked, and faster than the speed of light, his skin was covered with piercing, furious, icy blue eyes. “But _ I _ can hurt _ you _,” he threatened, voice low but with clear power behind it, echoing.

Hastur, on the screen, gulped. “You’re bluffing, wankwings.”

All of his eyes shot daggers at him. “I breathed hellfire at archangels for trying to kill me. Do you think I would have an issue with drowning _ you _in holy water after you tried doing the same to my husband?”

Hastur’s black eyes shone with fear. “Husband?” he asked, as if the word were in a foreign language.

“Leave us alone, and you live,” Aziraphale said simply, all of his eyes blinking languidly. This wasn’t for show; he never killed anyone, but he had no qualms with killing Hastur after all the torment and nightmares he gave Crowley. Aziraphale loathed him more than the archangels who punched and pushed him against a wall.

_ “Begone,” _Aziraphale commanded, secretly enjoying an opportunity to showcase some of his divine power.

The screen turned black.

Aziraphale’s extra eyes disappeared and he sighed. “That was irksome.”

Crowley snorted and lifted his head, lips parted and eyes bleary. “Whuh? What happened?”

“Nothing to worry about, dear,” Aziraphale kissed his forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

Crowley cuddled into the crook of his neck and was out like a light.

Aziraphale did tell him about the incident later, after he woke up.

A trace of fear lingered, but the main thing on his mind was, “You mean you got all holy and mighty and you didn’t wake me up to see it?”

“You were sleeping so soundly,” Aziraphale explained.

Crowley whined. But on the inside, he was smiling. Hastur came, but Aziraphale scared him off and he felt okay, by and large. “Just wake me next time.”

“If you say so.”

Hastur tried to bother him again 200 years later, while he was tending the garden on a sunny June afternoon.

Crowley just lifted his sunglasses and gave him a look. “Seriously? You’re stupid enough to come back here?”

“Watch your tongue,” Hastur growled. “I’m still the Duke of Hell.”

Crowley smirked. “Angel?” he called. “Hastur’s here for a visit.”

Aziraphale came into the garden of the cottage in his true form, nothing but glowering eyes, several pairs of wings, and brilliant blue flames.

Hastur let out a scream and sank back down to Hell.

Crowley laughed until his sides cramped. “Oh,” he wiped a tear from his eye, “you’re lovely like this, angel. But I think your holy fire is starting to burn, even from here.”

Aziraphale was back to his normal self in an instant. “Sorry, dear boy.” He kissed his nose.

Crowley wrapped an arm around his waist. “You’re kinda sexy when you’re scary.”

“Oh, please,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but made no effort to move. 

“I always liked spooky. Big spooky fan, me.”

Aziraphale smirked. “Hush, serpent.”

Somehow, despite it all, Crowley was okay. He was given everything he wanted. The memories will never disappear, but now he had a partner to talk to when they got to be too much there was a weight on his shoulders. He still looked over his shoulder sometimes, but Aziraphale was there to squeeze his hand and say, “I would tell you if I thought something’s wrong, love. I promise.” Crowley would squeeze back and try to relax, knowing he could trust him. It was getting easier to ignore the voice in his head telling him this was all temporary, and that pain and punishment would one day return.

“You’re not going anywhere, are you,” he said to Aziraphale one day.

Aziraphale immediately kissed his cheek. “Absolutely not, so you can stop with that nonsense immediately.”

“Okay,” he smiled.

Sometimes, Crowley asked God why he was allowed to be so happy, but for once, he was fine with never receiving an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) If you liked this, please check out my other fics!  
Edit: I added a little bit of wing sex ;) I hope you enjoyed~  
Come say hi on my tumblr [@obsessivelollipoplalala!](https://obsessivelollipoplalala.tumblr.com/)


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